


The Longest Night

by newyork247



Category: Madam Secretary
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-06-28
Updated: 2020-11-07
Packaged: 2021-03-04 07:40:57
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 31
Words: 104,891
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24966130
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/newyork247/pseuds/newyork247
Summary: When chaos strikes the McCord family they'll either pull together or fall completely apart.Originally posted to Fanfiction.Net
Relationships: Elizabeth McCord/Henry McCord
Comments: 16
Kudos: 34





	1. Chapter 1

**This story takes place somewhere mid season 3 but doesn't impact on any of the long running story arcs.**

* * *

"You were up early."

Henry glances up at his wife's words and a small smile plays across his lips. "That's normally my line," he remarks, as he lifts the percolator. "Coffee?"

"Absolutely." Elizabeth waggles her fingers at him. "Gimme." Her hand brushes his arm as she leans into him, kissing his cheek as she claims her mug. "I was disappointed to find your side of the bed empty," she tells him. "Neither one of us has early morning meetings, so I'd hoped that we could have had some time together. We've not had much of that recently, what with national crisis after national crisis."

His smile widens as he presses a kiss to her hair. "What kind of time did you have in mind?"

Catching sight of the knowing smirk on her husband's face, Elizabeth pokes her finger into his side. "You know full well what I mean, I'm not spelling it out for you."

"Really? Because I'd like to hear exactly what you were thinking about."

His mouth trails down her neck, his smile widening against her skin as he feels her pulse quicken and hears her breath hitch, a small giggle escapes her. He abandons his coffee mug on the counter so that he can slide his arms around her waist. "I suppose I could share a few snippets tonight," she teases as she leans further back into his embrace.

Henry ministrations still. "I uh, I'm going to be late tonight." He picks up his mug again and gives a somewhat guilty shrug. "I need to work."

"Which is normally my line." She points between them as she remarks, "I'm beginning to feel like we're trading places." When he doesn't respond to her joke – she knows its not a good one, but still she normally at least gets an attempt at a smile – she studies his face carefully and asks, "Everything ok at work?"

"Yeah, just busy," he answers, his tone nonchalant.

"Is that code for I can't talk about it?"

"Nope, that's me just saying that I'm busy."

"And Dmitri?" she asked nervously. If there was one person who could make her husband act out with his normal character, then it was Dmitri Petrov. He was under Henry's skin and she often feels as though she were still on eggshells whenever they spoke about him. Henry hasn't even mentioned him since he was reunited with his sister, but Elizabeth sometimes still felt that he hung over their marriage like a spectre.

"Nothing new." His eyes meet hers, the corners crinkling with his smile as he adds, "I'm just busy at work. You don't need to read anything into this."

She feels slightly reassured by the words, but still she tells him, "Ok, But I'm here if you need me."

Any reply Henry might have made was disturbed by the thundering of feet from above them, accompanied by the slamming of a door and a shout of, "Ali get out the bathroom! I need to brush my teeth!"

"I think the kids are up," Elizabeth remarks dryly.

"Whatever gives you that idea?" Henry replies on a laugh.

The thundering extends to the stairs, where Stevie appears, blonde hair flying out behind her as she jumps the last three steps in her haste. Elizabeth winces at the sight. "I hate when you all do that, one day one of you is going to fall and really hurt yourselves."

Stevie rolls her eyes. "Out of all the risks this family might face, I don't think the stairs feature on the list."

"They're on my list. Walk," Elizabeth tells her daughter.

A screech emanates from upstairs, stopping any further debate. "Jason! Give it back! Mom! Dad! Tell Jason to give me back my calculator!"

"Calculator?" Elizabeth sighs, rubbing her temples. "They're fighting over a calculator?"

"Apparently," Henry acknowledges dryly, he's sipping his coffee now and has turned his attention back to the newspaper.

They both wince as Jason bellows back, "I need it, I have a maths test today!"

"We're expected to have one for class, if I need to ask for one of the spares, I'll get a demerit. Tell him to use his own!"

"I'm not having this conversation between floors," Elizabeth shouts back. "Downstairs please." She turns to her husband, perplexed. "They get demerits for not having calculators?"

Stevie looks up from her bowl of cereal, telling her parents through a half-chewed mouthful. "Yeah, it's to do with exhibiting personal responsibility for both your belongings and your education." She gives a shrug as her parents turn to stare at her in surprise. "What? Alison told me."

Elizabeth shakes her head and grumbles, "I feel like we didn't quite pick up on the measure of the Quakers when we picked that school. They're much more rigid than I expected."

Henry snorts into his coffee, his smile fading into a mildly pained frown as their two younger children descend into the kitchen, arguing as they go, gesticulating wildly.

"It's not yours!" Alison screeches. "You can't just take it because you've decided that you need it more!"

"It's for the greater good," Jason argues back. "If I fail this test it could set me down a dark and terrible path, it could completely wreck my future career."

"Overdoing it there, buddy," Henry remarks, his attention drifting back to the paper.

"Ok then. Since our government frequently eschews doing the right thing for doing the thing that provides the greatest good, then we should apply the same principle here. Me passing my maths test will provide a better long-term outcome than the negative outcome of Alison getting a demerit." He directs a triumphant smirk at his sister. "So, I should have the calculator."

"So, let's get this right, you're trying to argue that who gets this calculator should be a utilitarian decision?" Elizabeth asks, folding her arms across herself as she stares at her son.

"Exactly."

"Hmmm, interesting concept." Elizabeth shoots a smile across at Henry, before telling their youngest, "Unfortunately this really is more of an autocratic household than a democratic one, and we all know that autocrats frequently don't make decisions based on the greater good, never mind a skewed version of it. So, you still need to give that back to your sister. Take the one I keep in the drawer."

Alison snatches the calculator back from her brother. "Haha."

Jason scowls. "The one you keep in the drawer isn't scientific. I need a scientific one for my test. I don't have time to get one for today."

"What happened to your one?" Henry asks.

"I lost it," Jason admits grudgingly.

"Then you have to take the consequences of that," Henry tells him. "Take some personal responsibility, your sister shouldn't get a demerit because you can't look after your belongings."

"Exactly," Elizabeth agrees. "So, what I would suggest is that you get to school and start trying find out if you can borrow one."

Jason gives a snort of disgust, rolling his eyes at his parents' argument. "So, it's ok for you to apply whatever rules you feel like, when you feel like it? Yeah, that's really fair."

"Life isn't fair and this is our house. Your mother and I pay the bills, so yeah, you do what we say. Go to school," Henry finishes firmly, folding over the newspaper and placing it to the side.

"Fine!" Jason snaps as he ducks out of the way of his Mom's attempt at a hug, stomping to the front door and standing there sulkily, staring at his shoes.

Stevie tips the remnants of her milk down the sink and tells her parents, "I'll take him to school." She glances towards her younger sister. "Ali, you ready? I can drop you on the way as well."

"Yeah." Alison leans forward and grabs a slice of toast off her Mom's plate, flashing a grin and kissing her cheek. "See you later."

"Have a good day Noodle." Elizabeth looks over and smiles at her eldest, who is digging her hands into her pockets, trying to locate her car keys. "Thank you, I hope he doesn't give you too much of a headache on the way in."

Stevie glances up and gives a wry smile. "It won't be anything I can't handle."

"Good luck on your test," Elizabeth calls through to Jason. The reply she gets is a grunt and the heavy slam of the front door. Sighing, she turns to her husband and tells him, "It was vaguely creepy to see you channel Dean Ward, do I need to arrange an exorcism?"

He gives a soft laugh. "No, but I kind of wish Jason had picked up a little bit more of that particular lesson, during the brief time he spent at that school."

"He's being a teenager," Elizabeth shrugs. "He's just a bit more vocal than the girls were. And let's face it, they can be much sneakier than he is."

"So, we should be glad that he's flaunting authority and ignoring personal responsibility because he's doing it to our faces?" He raises an eyebrow at her. "Ever think we're setting the bar too low?"

Elizabeth laughs "Sometimes we need to pick out small positives. Parenting and politics have taught me that." She sips her coffee, tilts her head and asks Henry, "You free for lunch today?"

"I should be, don't know if I'll have time to get to your office and back though."

"How about the park then? It's halfway between us," she suggests.

"That sounds good." He leans forward and kisses her, the briefest of touches across her lips. "I'll see you then." He glances at his watch and grimaces. "I better go. First class is at 9am and I need to set up."

He rushes off, and Elizabeth who has opened her mouth to say I love you, closes it as she sees that he's already halfway out the front door. She glances around her empty kitchen, shakes her head and remarks aloud to herself, "Wow, I'm actually last to leave, who thought that would ever happen?"

* * *

Elizabeth can feel the eyes of her details burning into her back as she drops onto the bench she and Henry meet at. She knows how her security feels about her park walks, but they are a hint of normality in her life, so she consistently ignores their protests. She checks her watch, Henry's late, and it seems that he's quickly becoming the new her in their relationship. It makes her smile, she can tease him about that and his poor timekeeping when he finally gets here.

Her mobile rings, Henry's name flashing on the screen. Her smile widens as she answers, greeting him with, "And here was me beginning to worry that I was being stood up."

There's an awkward silence and then his slightly sheepish voice. "Yeah…about that."

"You're standing me up."

"I'm sorry, I really am. I started marking papers and then I lost track of the time. If I left now, I wouldn't make it back in time for my afternoon classes. I'll make it up to you, I promise," he tells her in a rush.

"It's ok, I can let it slide this time. But I will hold you to that promise."

His tone is warm as he told her, "I'm counting on it."

"Any idea what time you'll get home tonight?"

"I'm not sure," Henry admits.

"The perils of having two jobs."

He gives a soft, mirthless laugh. "Yeah. Look I'll let you go and grab something for your lunch, try and salvage what you can of your time out the office. I'll see you soon, alright?"

"Alright. I –"

The phone line goes dead and Elizabeth rolls her eyes when she looks at the screen to see that he's already hung up. That was the second time today that she hasn't been able to get those words in. Third time lucky, she supposes. She twirls her mobile in her hand for a moment, thinking, before she slides it back into her pocket. Henry was just distracted, she reminds herself, it has been a stressful few months for them all, and she tells herself that she's reading too much into this. She knows what her husband is like when he becomes immersed in work, and this was exactly it, another day or two and he would tell her exactly what was on his mind; she can wait until then. Sighing, she stands up and begins to walk, wanting to clear her head before she goes back to the office and she hears her security fall into step behind her.

The path curves ahead, a long swoop into a blind corner, a corner she knows her security hate. They only ever cleared this park because the road runs alongside this part, meaning that they can leave the car along the edge of the park, giving them advance notice of any potential threats. At that thought there is a crackle on her security's radio, and she hears Matt tell her, "Crowd of runners coming from ahead. Move to the right please Ma'am."

The mass of runners appears as they say the words and without any real thought, Elizabeth automatically dodges to her left, separating herself from her detail, placing them at the park edge and her on the main expanse of grass. "Ma'am!" She hears one of them protest her move, sees them start to try and push their way through the crowd. Almost simultaneously she feels someone approach her from her opposite side.

She hears his words before she sees him. "I tried to reach out to you, Elizabeth, you shouldn't have ignored me."

Elizabeth begins to turn, a frown on her features as she takes in that eerily familiar voice. The arch of his baseball cap means that his features are hidden in shadow and a shiver of unease creeps across her as she tilts her face to see just who is addressing her.

She doesn't manage it before there's a loud bang and she feels the oddest sensation of pain and pressure to her chest. The shock causes her to stumble, stepping back awkwardly, she staggers on her feet for a second, her hands pressing automatically against her chest before her shoes slide in the mud and her legs give out beneath her as she falls onto the grass.

Her detail is shouting, and she can hear screaming.

She feels odd, her chest is tight and she coughs, trying to clear the sensation, her lips oddly wet, slick, as she blinks up at the grey sky. She can't catch her breath, she feels it hitch in her lungs as she turns her head to the side, feeling as though hours have passed but realistically, she knows it's only been a matter of seconds.

She sees someone drop to their knees next to her, and finally she can see his face. Her thoughts are almost sluggish, and it takes a moment for her to register that she's looking at Ray Merchant. His hands are up in the air and she watches as something tumbles from one, landing on the grass next to her head. As Elizabeth stares at the glinting metal of the gun, she feels the cold sensation of terror sink into her bones as she realises exactly what's just happened.


	2. Chapter 2

**I was midway through this chapter when I realised the show has two Matt's. Hopefully that won't cause confusion later on.**

**The events of the next chapter will likely run alongside the timeline of this one.**

* * *

In all his years of service, first in the military and then in the security service, Matt has always known that it only takes one wrong move, one overlooked detail or a split second decision for the worst, for the unthinkable to happen. He has always kept that in mind when planning out security for the Secretary of State, and all the time knowing that other factors will continue to revolve out with his control. One of those being that Elizabeth McCord, however delightful she was as an individual, could be difficult to protect.

He'd been told by others in the service how those they guarded would heed warnings about their safety and would compromise to cover those. The problem for him being that the McCords didn't compromise. The reasons they gave, at times, were fair. They wanted their children to have as normal a life as possible, and they wanted to be involved in their children's extra-circular activities, reasons he that although presented some difficulties, he found understandable. That understanding didn't however extend to afternoon walks in the park, which to him have never been an acceptable risk to the Secretary's safety. It was a point made every time the couple arranged to meet there, a point that the service consistently raised, and a point that was instantly dismissed by both the Secretary and her husband. So, the walks continued.

In most ways he had grown used to the outings, security was as tight as they could possibly make it in a public park on their rather limited budget, and the Secretary was a well-liked figure on the DC circuit and within the media. Neither of these facts ever made him drop his guard, but admittedly he took some comfort from them. Today however was different, he had felt a shiver of uneasiness, a feeling of foreboding all day and he wasn't sure why. It was a feeling that had only grown when he realised that Henry McCord wasn't coming and that the Secretary, instead of turning back, was continuing with her walk.

Then came that split second, that wrong move he has always dreaded. He had called for her to move to the right and she had gone left. He'd known it had been a genuine mistake on her part, she had been distracted and the grass on the left had been closer to her. That had been his mistake, he hadn't considered that factor, he had just thought that it was safer to have her closer to the car, so that any exit they might have to make wouldn't be blocked by the runners.

It hadn't worked like that. Now that mass of people – he wasn't sure why there was so many – blocked him and every other member of the detail from the woman they were meant to keep safe. He kept her in his line of vision as he pushed forward, saw a walker he hadn't noticed earlier approach her. He heard the shot before he saw the gun. He saw the Secretary flail and fall, as the runners screamed, most dispersing, some freezing in the chaos.

He was trained to secure her in this event, he saw the others move towards the shooter, as dictated by their training. The man was already on his knees, gun on the grass, hands on his head, muttering under his breath.

The Secretary was flat on her back, one hand resting against the middle of her chest, blood seeping through her fingers, and he could hear her ragged breaths. The grass around her already stained. All this he saw in the first few seconds, in the next one he knew time was of the essence. He picked her up and ran, the car was close, and he bundled her into it, climbing in after. "Go! Drive! George Washington, gunshot wound, radio ahead!" He instructed in a loud staccato bark.

His fingers fumble on his radio. "Shots fired, Bluebird is down." She is sprawled across the backseat, her upper body across his legs. He needs to find the wound, needs to apply pressure. He undoes the buttons of her blazer. "I'm sorry Ma'am," he tells her. Her white blouse is saturated, the red bloom spreading outwards, her hand resting in the middle. Matt's hand slips under hers and he presses down hard, feeling her arch in pain as he applies the pressure. "We're going to the hospital," he assures her, "but I need to try and slow the bleeding." His spare hand runs quickly over her back, searching for an exit wound that he doesn't find.

The radio crackles again. "Is Bluebird secure?"

"Affirmative. En route to George Washington Hospital." He turns his attention back to her again. "Stay with me Ma'am."

Her eyes blink up at him, they are clouded, unfocused. Her breathing is harsh, and her chest is heaving from the effort. There is an audible rattle with every laboured breath. Her lips are stained with blood and her voice is barely audible, every syllable a clear struggle as she forces out, "Hen…ry."

"We'll get him Ma'am. He'll get us at the hospital." He doesn't know for sure that that's what she's asking him, but he wants to give her some form of reassurance.

Her mouth moves again, but this time her voice fails her. Her fingers clutch desperately around his hand and he squeezes it back in what he hopes is a comforting move. The rattle is worsening, her breaths shortening. He can see her eyelids fluttering. "Stay with me Ma'am, keep your eyes open, look at me," he instructs her.

Elizabeth's blue eyes fix onto his and he doesn't think he'll forget the look in them for as long as he lives, the abject terror as her life ebbs away. She holds onto his gaze for a second, her fingers give a weak squeeze, almost as if she's trying to reassure him. Her eyes flutter again, looking towards the window before they fall shut.

"How long till arrival?" He shouts to the front of the car.

"ETA two minutes."

The sirens blare, and as her breathing worsens, becoming more erratic, Matt struggles to assess it over the din.

Finally, the car stops, the tyres screeching in protest. The door is flung open and the Secretary is like a ragdoll as she's unceremoniously hauled out of the car by Seth and onto an awaiting gurney. Matt is out after them in a matter of seconds. "Close range gunshot wound to the chest, I haven't found an exit wound. Initially conscious until a few minutes ago," he tells the staff as he runs alongside them.

"Pulse is thready," he hears someone chirp, there are already so many people that he can't tell who it is.

"Probably going into hypovolemic shock, contact the blood bank, put more O neg on standby until we get her cross matched and get cardiothoracics down here now!"

He feels a hand at his elbow. "Sir, are you injured as well?"

Matt stops moving and blinks down in confusion at the staff member. "What? No? Why…" He raises his hand to gesticulate and stops when he sees the blood. Glancing down at himself, he sees the large, deep splotches of red that mark him, and he realises how he must look; like another victim. He shakes his head. "No, it's not my blood."

He starts to walk again, through one set of double doors. His footsteps heavier as he sees that her blood has dripped onto the floor, bright red droplets that has smeared where the wheels of the gurney has rolled through it. Matt draws up next to Seth at the second set of doors, glancing into the busy resus room through the narrow glass pane. His mobile rings and he gropes for it, realising his hands are shaking now that the initial adrenaline has worn off. He recognises the number on screen. "Sir."

"Any update on the Secretary's condition?"

"None, Sir. Medical staff are working on her now."

"Is the injury severe?"

"Gunshot wound to the chest, close range."

"Dammit." The head of the service gives a deep sigh. "Ok, POTUS is about to be made aware of the incident, I'll update him of this. Just so you know the shooter was secured at the scene and the FBI are going to take custody of him. At this time we can't be certain that he was working in isolation, so agents are heading to secure Dr McCord and the children."

"What location are we securing them at?"

"Dr McCord will likely come to the hospital, I don't think he'll accept anything else."

"No Sir, I don't think he will, but what about the children?"

There is another sigh. "We'll try and keep the news from them until Dr McCord has decided what he wants to do. It's likely that the media will have this news soon and they will camp outside their home, not exactly conductive to secrecy, so Russell Jackson has suggested the Whitehouse, in the private residences. A new detail will be at your location in the next five to ten minutes, FBI are also on their way, they'll need to debrief you."

"Of course."

"I'll speak to you soon. Goodbye."

He doesn't wait for a response from Matt before he hangs up. Matt turns back to the window, looking through that glass pane again. "Keep the door secure," he instructs Seth.

"Of course." Seth's hand comes up to rest on Matt's shoulder. "You alright, Boss?"

His lips pull into a thin line. "In this job, sometimes you just have to be." He turns and enters resus. To be heard over the staff his voice is loud, but he keeps it steady. "I need an update on the Secretary's condition."

The man standing at the head of the bed, surveying the proceedings, and giving out instructions glances at him. "Critical. We're preparing a theatre and will move in the next few minutes. We've intubated, her airway was compromised, we have an open pneumothorax, which we've applied an occlusive dressing to and we're bagging her while we get the portable ventilator ready. She's in hypovolemic shock and we probably have a mass of internal bleeding, so once she's on the vent then we need to get to theatre." He looks towards another staff member. "How's her access?"

"Venous access in both arms, it should hold but if we're wanting to push fluids then I'd prefer a central line, femoral line would do as well."

Ok, let's get a central line in, request an urgent portable chest x-ray."

Matt steps back against the wall again. His experience has taught him what causes the unthinkable to happen, but what it hasn't taught him is how it feels when it happens on your watch.

* * *

Henry twirls his pen around his fingers as he looks down at his phone and back up at the clock, the guilt setting in about missing this time with Elizabeth. They don't get much quality time together and they like to make the most of the time that they do get, and he has definitely failed on that score today. Tapping his pen against his desk, he gives a sigh, he had been preoccupied this morning as well, caught up thinking about getting Ian through his initiation; and he was sure that he'd worried her.

He scrubs his hand across his jaw, he should have just told her what he was thinking about, he could on this one, there were no barriers. It had just been that she had been stressing about the whole Madam Sexytary debacle and so he had held back slightly, wanting to wait until she was slightly less frazzled about that. He might have waited too long, she was worried now. He would need to fix that. His mission tonight would run far too late for him to do anything meaningful, but he'd make her breakfast in bed tomorrow, they could talk then.

His classroom door suddenly flies open, rattling against the opposite wall as DS agents storm into the room. "Dr McCord we need to leave."

Henry gets to his feet. "What? Why?" They flank him, propelling him forward. He recognises one as an agent who was occasionally on Elizabeth's detail. "Pete, what is this? What's happening." They don't answer, rushing him forward, towards the emergency exit, he can see the car pulled up onto the pavement on the other side of the door. They have him bundled into the back of the car in less than a minute. Henry isn't used to it and feels his head spin at the sudden direction his afternoon has taken.

Pete slides into the back seat across from him, talking into his radio, "Dr McCord is secure."

Leaning back against the seat, Henry holds his hands outward as he asks again, "Want to tell me what this is about?"

Pete rubs at the side of his neck. "Dr McCord, I'm sorry to have to tell you this, but there has been an incident, a shooting to be more precise. The Secretary has been injured, she's been taken to George Washington Hospital."

Henry's immediate reaction is to laugh, because what they're telling him just isn't possible. "No…no," he tells him simply. "I spoke to Elizabeth about ten, fifteen minutes ago, she was at the park."

"Which is where the shooting occurred."

"I don't…" He shakes his head, his brain feels as though it's short circuiting as he tries to process what he's being told. "No, she couldn't have been shot. At the park?" His eyes meet Pete's. "No," he tells him again.

Pete's expression is grave. "Dr McCord, at this moment we don't know if this was an isolated attack or something bigger. Your children are being secured as we speak, and the decision has been made to take them to POTUS's residence. Now we're currently taking you to George Washington, but we can switch and go to the Whitehouse first if you'd prefer."

Henry feels sick to his stomach, he has just spoken to Elizabeth, and she had been fine. He doesn't understand how this could have happened. "Do…do the kids know?" He asks after a moment

"No. We expect the media to have the story soon though, so we'll ask the children to hand over their devices. That way we can try and keep the news from them until you can let us know how you want us to break the news."

"Elizabeth, how is she?"

"I don't know much about the details of her injury, but we have received word that she is critical. I'm sorry."

"Critical?" Henry echoes, frowning. He shakes his head again. "No…no. I spoke to her. This is a mistake," he suddenly laughs incredulously.

"It's not a mistake. Dr McCord, I'm sorry to push you but we need to know if you want us to change route and take you to the Whitehouse."

"No. Take me to the hospital." This would be sorted out when he saw Elizabeth. This wasn't happening, there had been some sort of mistake. Elizabeth had been at their park, she couldn't have been shot, it just couldn't have happened.

The rest of the journey is carried out in silence apart from the occasional crackle of Pete's radio, once with the pronouncement that his children had been secured. Nothing else breaks through as they sped through the streets of DC, until finally, the car rolls to a stop.

Henry doesn't wait for the door to be opened for him, throwing himself out of the vehicle, because the sooner he sees Elizabeth, the sooner this mistake can be straightened out. Pete is right beside him, another agent taking his other side as they huddle him in through an emergency side door into a long corridor. He frowns as he notices the drops of partially dried blood on the floor. "Where are we?"

"This corridor is the emergency exit from the ER's resus room, it's more private than taking you in through the main entrance. The Secretary would have been brought through here as per protocol."

Henry begins to feel his hope falter and he has a second where he isn't quite as sure that this is all some form of terrible mistake. He can see Matt and Seth up ahead, through the clear pane of the door, they are turned away from him, talking to one another. His stomach lurches, why aren't they in with Elizabeth?

As they step through the door, both men turn, and Henry falters, blinking rapidly as he takes them in. They are both splattered with blood, Seth less so, the dark patches on his suit aren't quite as obvious, a slash of reddish brown only slightly evident on the visible part of his white shirt. But Matt looks as though he's been auditioning for the role of Carrie. His suit and shirt are soaked. His hands are clean on first inspection, but as they draw closer Henry can see that around his nails remain stained and he can see the faint mark at his neck, where he's tried to scrub blood away. "Is that Elizabeth's?" He asks, his voice hoarse, afraid of the answer.

"It is," Matt confirmed.

His eyes run over them both again. "All of it?" As they nod, he feels his knees buckle and he has to catch himself, or perhaps he is steadied by the two agents at his side, he can't say for certain. "Why aren't you in with her?"

"Another team has taken over, we're about to debrief with our head of service and the FBI, it's protocol," Matt assures him.

"Right." Henry nodded. "Right." He presses his hands to his mouth. "I don't understand. I spoke to her and she was fine. What happened?"

It's Matt who answers him, "After speaking to you, the Secretary continued on her walk. She was separated, briefly, from us by a crowd of runners only a minute or so later. The shooter approached her from the opposite direction before we could secure her and fired."

"What do we know about the shooter?"

"Not much, he was secured at the scene and we have handed him to the FBI."

"And Elizabeth. I want to see her."

"Of course, I'll ask if you can see her before they take her up to theatre."

Pete's hand shoots out to rest on Matt's arm. "I'll ask, you should both go." Matt's face hardens for a moment and Pete's voice softens. "It's just protocol," he whispers. There's a moment of awkwardness before Matt finally relents, nodding and letting Pete step past him.

Matt turns to Henry, his features taut. "I want to apologize to you, I failed in my duty to protect the Secretary and I will never forgive myself. I am so sorry."

Henry wants to tell him that he doesn't blame him, that he blames the lunatic who pulled a gun on his wife, but all of it feels too surreal and there's still a part of his brain that can't accept what is happening. Matt turns to leave, and Henry asks suddenly, "Elizabeth, did she say anything? Afterwards?"

"Only one thing, your name. She asked for you, Dr McCord."

Henry nods numbly. He should have been there, he was meant to have been there and maybe if he had been… He is pulled from his thoughts by the door swinging open, by Pete telling him, "You can go in Dr McCord."

The room is busy, staff surrounding the gurney in the middle of the room, blocking it from his view. His gaze is caught by a variety of plastic bags in the corner. One is just a ragged scrap of white material, stained rust and it takes him a few seconds to realise that it had been a blouse. The bag next to it brings his stomach to his throat; Elizabeth's heels. They had been at the foot of the bed this morning, he'd tripped over them, had bitten back a curse in order not to wake her. In that moment, clarity comes, and he realises that this is real. That he's going to look up and see Elizabeth on that gurney.

A nurse looks up. "Dr McCord, you can come up."

He steps closer, and his breath catches at the sight of her. She is flat on her back, a hospital gown placed loosely over her, covering her. Blood stains down her arms and hands, up her neck, splotching across her face and matted into the ends of her hair. There is a tube at her bloodstained mouth, and it's attached to a hissing ventilator. "Elizabeth?" He takes another step until he's at the side of the gurney. His hand slips into hers. Her eyes are closed, and she doesn't respond to his touch, he isn't even sure why he even thought she might. His free hand drifts to her hair, smoothing a thick strand of her hair off her forehead. "I'm here," he tells her.

There is a quiet cough from the head of the bed, and he looks up to the man in scrubs standing at the top of the bed. He looks apologetic as he tells him, "I wish we could give you longer, but we need to get the Secretary to theatre. Anaesthetics will accompany her, I can talk you through what's happened."

"Ok." Henry nods. Looking down at his wife again, he leans forward, kissing her forehead. "I'll be here when you come out. I promise."

He steps back, sees the staff kick off the brakes on the gurney as they move for the door. The new agents follow them. Henry looks around the room again, realising that blood is smeared across the floor, splattered on instruments that sit on small, steel trolley's that have been pushed to the side. The doctor who spoke to him before addresses him again, holding out his hand. "Dr McCord, I'm Dr Miller, lead attending within the ER. I oversaw the Secretary's care whilst she was in our department. There's a room out in the corridor to our left, we can talk in there."

Henry follows him in, aware that his two agents are trailing him, stopping at the door. Dr Miller gestures for Henry to sit, waiting until he does, before he sits down across from him, leaning forward so that his elbows are resting on his knees. Not waiting for him to speak, Henry rushes in, his words tumbling out, "My wife, how is she, really?"

"Can I just check what you know so far?"

"Nothing." Henry gives an almost bitter, humourless laugh. "I know nothing, they keep telling me that she was shot but that's it. That's all they've told me."

"Ok." He gives a short nod. "The Secretary-"

"Elizabeth," Henry cuts in unthinkingly. He looks up at the man's slightly taken aback expression and adds, "I'd just prefer if we used her name, not her job title."

He gives a nod of acknowledgement, "Of course, I apologise. Elizabeth arrived at our department following a gunshot wound to her chest. She was unconscious on arrival, had lost a lot of blood and had suffered severe chest trauma. It was imperative that we stabilised her for surgery, so her time in my department has been minimal. What we know so far is that the bullet is lodged in her chest cavity and has pierced her right lung, potentially also damaging the right side of her heart. Just before you arrived, we carried out a portable chest x-ray which shows the bullet has lodged itself at a rib on her left side, so there may potentially be some damage to that lung as well. We are fairly confident that the bullet missed her spinal cord, but we will confirm that with a CT scan following surgery."

"Oh God." Henry slumps back in his chair, trying to take in everything that he's just been told, "But she'll come through this?"

Dr Miller's lips thin momentarily, "Her condition is critical, due to the severity of the trauma to her right lung and to her heart we had to take her straight down surgery, it was her only chance. But it means we are working somewhat blind, we don't know the extent of the damage caused by the bullet and the surgeons won't know this until they start working. Which unfortunately means that we are unable to give any assurances currently. It will depend on what they find. I'm sorry, Dr McCord."

"How long will the surgery take?"

"It's difficult to say, based on the known damage then it's likely to last the next three or four hours, potentially longer. We have a bed in our intensive care unit for when she comes out of surgery. They have a room, which is more pleasant than this one for you to wait in, if you'd like."

"I uh…I don't know. Our kids…they don't know yet and I…" He tails off, his face sinking into his hands as everything he's just been told starts to hit home, as the stillness of her figure begins to imprint itself on his brain. He could lose her, his wife, his Elizabeth and he can't think of his life without her.

The doctor nods. "I will inform your detail that's where you can wait if you wish to. They can let us know. You are of course welcome to see your children and then come back. The room will remain available to you."

"Thank you." Henry is only vaguely aware of the doctor leaving, hears the soft thud of the door closing, and he sits, listening to the ticking of a clock. Less than an hour ago his life was exactly as it should be, now he wasn't sure he even knew which way was up.


	3. Chapter 3

President Conrad Dalton doesn't even glance up from his report as his office door flies open without warning. After all there is only one person who has the gall to stomp in and out of his office, acting as though it's their own personal revolving door. He checks his watch. "You've managed to stay out of here for about half an hour, that might be a new record." He looks up, expecting to either see the smallest of smirks or a look of annoyed harassment on his chief of staff's face, instead he sees an expression that he has never seen before. Whilst a member of his security detail slides past him to stand at the door. His eyes flicker between them, squaring his shoulders. "What is it?"

Russell rubs the back of his neck in consternation. "Sir, it's…ah hell this is difficult…" He glances up to the ceiling, exhaling deeply before letting the words tumble out, "It's Elizabeth, she's been shot."

"Bess?" Conrad hears himself clarify needlessly. After all there was no other Elizabeth that Russell would ever rush into his office to discuss.

"Yes, Sir."

Conrad lets out a sharp breath. "Where?"

"Some park…I don't remember the name," Russell admits tightly.

"How is she?"

"No word yet, all we know is she has been hit. I've just had the head of the secret service on the phone, FBI are on their way to the scene, Elizabeth has been taken to George Washington. They're not sure if this was an isolated incident yet, hence…" He tails off and waved his hand towards the agent who was now in the corner, staring resolutely ahead.

"I want real time updates on her condition."

"I've made that clear already." He pushes his glasses up the bridge of his nose. "Her family is being secured. They'll take Dr McCord straight to the hospital but there was a question over where best to send the children." He pauses again, one fingernail scratching absentmindedly at his jawline. "I made a suggestion which I hope doesn't cross any lines."

"I don't think that's something you've ever worried about before," Conrad remarks dryly.

"There's a first time for everything."

"Hmmm. So, what did you suggest?"

"Well given that Stephanie McCord is already here, and that it won't be long until the media gets wind of this, I felt here would be the safest place for them at this time. Obviously, I don't want to worry them by sticking them into the bunker, so I suggested taking them to the residence. The agents will confiscate their phones, try and keep them away from news sources until we know more, until Henry can speak to them."

Conrad gives a nod. "That seems the most prudent course of action. I'll let Lydia know, she can…keep an eye out." He leans back in his chair. "The shooter, do we have them?"

"Yes. Alive as it happens. But other than that, we don't have enough details yet to put together an accurate picture of what's happened."

"Well tell them to get one, and quickly," Conrad advises.

"I have, but there's another issue I'd like to discuss-" Russell was cut off by the insistent ring of his mobile. His mobile already in his hand, he answers swiftly. "I take it you have an update." He turns slightly, so he was no longer facing the President, going silent for a few moments. "Right. I want real time updates. I want to know how the hell this happened," he hisses, agitatedly pushing his suit jacket to his hip as he spoke. "And I want to be clear on this, if the media knows something before I do, then it'll be your head I'll come looking for on a platter."

That Russell's tone remained, relatively, calm throughout that conversation, was not something that made Conrad feel any better about the entire situation. When Russell was calm it normally meant that there was something to panic about, because his ranting and railing against whatever had annoyed him hadn't or wouldn't work, so he was conserving his energy. His stomach sinks when he sees Russell hang up and hesitate before he finally swings back around to face him. "Bess?"

"Yeah. Turns out that she was separated from her detail. Shooter walked right up to her in broad daylight and fired. Sir, she's critical. Hit close range to the chest." He gives a harsh, mirthless laugh, "We're meant to have the best secret service in the world and yet somehow, _somehow,_ a lunatic with a gun strolled up to the Secretary of State, in a public park and damn well nearly blasted her to Kingdom come!" He sees Conrad's face blanch at his words and dips his face, looking at the floor as he takes a deep intake of breath. "I'm sorry, I shouldn't have said that." He rubs his forehead. "I just…how did this happen?"

Conrad's jaw tenses. "We'll find out." He meets Russell's gaze. "Does Henry know?"

"He does. He's en-route to the hospital now."

"Any updates on the shooter?"

"FBI has him. He dropped the gun after firing, disarmed himself before the security had any reason to fire and didn't resist arrest. We should have more information on him before long, including a confirmed identification, swiftly followed by finding out if this was an opportunistic hit or part of a larger, planned attack." He shakes his head. "What a world."

"It's something." Conrad remarks. "But Bess, she's tough…" When Russell glances away from him, he tails off, knowing that he is clutching at straws and that for once Russell doesn't want to be the one to break that news. There is a beat of silence before another thought occurs to him and he asks, "You had something else you wanted to discuss with me."

"What?" Russell looks up, lost in his own thoughts for a moment. "Oh, yeah. It was about Stephanie McCord."

"What about her. She's already here, isn't she?"

"She is and is currently in my office alphabetising some files for me. It's just that realistically this news isn't going to stay quiet for much longer. This took place in a public area and you can guarantee someone has a picture or a video that they'll be posting on instabook as we speak or haggling the rights for with some media outlet. There's word of mouth to contend with as well, this building is about to turn into a very big game of Chinese whispers. Henry might not be here for a while yet, it's easier to keep the younger two out of the loop, but she's in the middle of it." He gestures wildly with his hands. "Do we really want her to find out some twisted, embellished version of this from some random staffer with a big mouth?"

"Henry might want to break this news himself."

"You really think he's going to want to sit in front of his children and tell them that their mother might die?" Russell asks quietly. "I think more than anything else, he won't want them hearing a mistruth from some stranger who either wants a kick out of their reaction or sees it as some speck of gossip to mindlessly pass along."

"I hadn't thought of it that way," Conrad admits heavily. He leans back in his chair. "Do what you think is best."

Russell gives a short nod, the words would sound like a cop out to some, but he knows the man well enough to know what it really means; it is his blessing.

As he turns to leave, Conrad's voice stops him. "Bess' staff, they should be made aware."

"I'll phone Nadine Tolliver. Ask them to prepare a statement to the press, simply a confirmation to begin with, we'll take it as it comes with this."

"Good, thank you Russell."

* * *

Stevie whistles tunelessly as she sorts through more of the files that Russell had pointed her to that morning. She hates filing, thankfully this job doesn't entail much, so on when it does, she is willing to do it without complaint. After all the challenges of every other day more than make up for this mundane task. Glancing to the side, a frown flickers across her features as she sees Abby hanging around nervously next to the door. "Everything ok?" she asks.

The older woman jumps, a strained smile curving her mouth. "Of course, just waiting for Russell to reappear."

Stevie gestures at the paper covered floor, joking, "Are you worried he's going to murder me when he sees this sea of paper?"

Abby's mouth opens and moves wordlessly for a few seconds before she clears her throat awkwardly and closes it over again. Finally, she shakes her head, her voice hoarse as she grinds out, "No, he probably won't even notice."

"He notices everything, and he'll definitely notice this," Stevie remarks dryly.

Giving a hurried nod, she sees Abby wave her hand in a strange, nervous gesture before she steps out of the doorway. Stevie watches her go and then leans back on her heels, noticing that she hasn't gone back to her desk, and is instead hanging in the doorway of her office, scanning the corridor anxiously. "Weird," Stevie murmurs, turning her attention back to the task at hand.

A few more minutes pass and she is suddenly aware of Russell muttering from the outer office. She frowns again. Russell never mutters.

Looking up, she sees him appear in the doorway, his face even grimmer than usual, whilst a secret service agent stands behind him. They both step into the room, and the door swings shut behind them. Stevie feels her heart start to race, her stomach clenching as a sickly feeling grabs at her throat. "Am I being fired?" She asks quietly.

He shakes his head. "No." He gives a sigh and gestures at the chair in front of his desk. "Have a seat Stephanie."

The use of her full name doesn't go unnoticed and she looks down at where she is crouched on the floor. "But I'm already sitting," she points out, then winces at the stupidity of her words.

For once, Russell doesn't comment on the banality of her statement. "Sit down in a comfortable chair," he tells her instead.

"Ok." Stevie gets to her feet, watching the agent in the corner as she moves, lowering herself slowly into the chair. Her eyes follow Russell across the room as he pulls his own chair from out behind the desk, drawing it out until it was across from hers, without the barrier of the desk between them. Stevie hears him sigh and if anything, she feels even worse than she did a few minutes ago. "What's going on?" she asks, somehow managing to keep her voice calm, steady.

"You know, there's always a lot of talk in politics and most of it's nonsense, either made up or exaggerated. If you don't hear it straight from the source then chances are it's not what happened, not really, but no matter what, the one thing you can guarantee is that whether it's the truth or not, it's going to spread like wildfire."

"Have I done something?"

"No, you haven't. My point is that I have something you need to hear, and you're owed the truth and not some half-baked story." He sighs again, rubbing his eyes behind his glasses. "I want you to know that, and also that I really wish it wasn't me who had to tell you this, but in order to avoid that half-baked story, here we are."

"Ok."

"Stevie…there's been an incident involving your Mom. We don't know all the details yet, hell we barely know any of the details yet, but what we do know is that during a walk in Lincoln Park she was shot and injured. She's been taken to hospital and your Dad is on his way there. What we don't know is pretty much everything else," he admits. "Including whether this is potentially a wider attack against high ranking members or state, a targeted aim at your family or the work of a singular opportunist. So, given that, your younger siblings are going to be brought here by the service for their own protection and you'll all have an agent with you until we are certain that there isn't any further threat towards any of you."

Stevie frowns, trying to make sense of what Russell has just told her, because none of it seemed real, she feels as though she has disappeared down the rabbit hole. She stares at a scuff on the toe of her shoe. "Do Alison and Jason know?" she asks finally.

"No. We'll work to protect them from this until your Dad decides what he wants to do next. But you, you're an adult, who works in the Whitehouse, I can't protect you from hearing about this. So, I wanted it to be the truth."

"I appreciate that." Stevie swallows heavily, feeling her eyes begin to water as she looks back at Russell, her voice quiet, cracking at the end as she asks, "Is my Mom going to be ok?"

Russell's hand reaches out and rests over hers. "I don't know," he admits.

Stevie feels a warm tear start to trickle down her cheek and she swipes it away with the edge of her sleeve. "You said my Dad was on the way to the hospital with her, was he not with her?"

"No, from what I understand he was at work."

Stevie's frown deepens. "But they always go there together."

Russell draws his hand away from hers. "As I said, we're only just starting to piece everything together, but he was at the War College, that much I'm sure on." He sits back and watches her. "Your brother and sister should be at the residence soon. I can take you up there."

Giving a quiet sniff, Stevie shakes her head, "No, I can't. I can't sit with them and know that…that…what you've just told me and keep quiet about it."

"I understand." He gets awkwardly to his feet, feeling his knees creak as he went. "You're welcome to stay in here, or I can find you another, more comfortable room if you'd prefer."

"I'd rather stay here, I don't really like the idea of going out there right now." She thinks of all those eyes on her, of the whispers and she simply can't face it.

"At the moment, this is still contained, if that makes a difference."

"Not really, I don't think I'll feel comfortable anywhere." She looks down at the papers spread out across the carpet. "If it's ok with you, I'd like to just get on with work."

"You don't have to…" Russell tails off and then gives a small nod. He knows that he would want something to focus on if he were in her shoes. "Alright. I'll let you get to it then. Abby is just outside, if you need me then you just need to let her know."

Stevie watches Russell leave, she slowly lowers herself down to the floor, picking up another sheaf of papers, she stares at them blankly. She can feel the agent's eyes in her back. She wants to cry, but she doesn't, it all feels so surreal and she doesn't want to face any of it just yet, and so she just goes back to filing, wishing that he had just come in to fire her.

* * *

Henry feels as though his feet are filled with lead as he is escorted down the corridor of the Whitehouse by his security detail. He had sat in that waiting room for all of five minutes before realising that as much as he didn't want to leave the hospital, to leave knowing that Elizabeth's life was hanging in the balance, he had no choice. He was no fool, he knew there was a limited time until what had happened hit the news and their children didn't deserve to hear about it in that way. So, he had dragged himself up and announced that he wanted to be taken to their kids.

The car journey had been arduous, because all he could think of was how the hell he was meant to explain this to them. By the time he arrived, there was nothing that he wanted to do less than to say any of these words aloud.

The corridor was busy, some of the staff glancing in his direction, the odd pitying glance being thrown at him. Nobody approached him, which he was sure meant that the news of Elizabeth wasn't yet public knowledge.

Russell appeared from nowhere, he was far too good at that. He inclines his head towards a small room behind Henry. "A quick word."

Henry feels a brief urge to bite back that he isn't in the mood for following instructions, but then he realises that Russell might in fact hold some information on why this has happened. And so, he slips in after him. "Tell me you know something about this."

"No more than you do." He leans against the closed door. "I'd ask how you are but…it seems redundant. Did you see Elizabeth?"

"I did. Spoke to the doctor who treated her in the ER."

"And?"

"And…" He shakes his head, pressing his fingers to his temples, applying pressure to the growing pain there. "And how do you think it is? She was shot Russell!"

"Henry, I don't pretend to know how you're feeling right about now-"

"Good. Because I don't understand how this happened. She was meant to be safe!"

"We'll find out what happened."

Henry continues as though Russell hasn't spoken. "You know I laughed when they told me. I'd spoken to her just before it, minutes before in fact. I thought that there was no way that things could have changed so quickly, that someone had made a mistake." He waves one hand. "That I would get there, and everything would be sorted out."

"Henry-"

"And then I get there and it's true. I'm looking at my wife, covered in blood, in fact everywhere I look is covered in her blood, there's a tube down her throat and a doctor telling me they don't know if she's going to come through this. How do I tell our kids that?"

Russell shifts uncomfortably, he has never been good at comforting the grief stricken, it was one of the many reasons he liked the fact his job was behind the scenes. "Well I already told Stevie," he admits, rubbing the back of his head, waiting for an explosion of anger from Henry McCord. He'd never seen the man wound so tight, not even when Elizabeth disappeared in Iran.

That explosion doesn't come, he looks almost confused as he finally looks at Russell. "You told Stevie," he echoes.

"I did. Didn't want her finding out from some big mouthed staffer. She's in my office, thought you might want to see her first." He scratches at the bridge of his nose. "As for Elizabeth, nothing I say is going to make this better, but I meant when I said we'll do whatever it takes to bring the son of a bitch to justice. Come on," he gestures towards the door. "Waiting isn't going to make this any easier for you."

* * *

"Christ, this is a mess," Dr Charles Reynolds whistles. "Can't see a damn thing, he holds his hand outstretched, fingers waving. "I need suction."

"Blood pressure's falling."

He sucks a breath in between his teeth. "Push more blood and fluids."

"We've got fluids going in as quickly as we can," his registrar informs him.

"You need to find the bleed fast, heart rate is at thirty and falling," the anaesthetist calls from the top of the table.

Charles frowns into the blood-filled chest cavity. "I need more suction." A nurse jumps in with another catheter and he lets out a whistle when he finally finds what he was looking for. "Cardiac tamponade, along with a roughly three-centimetre tear to the right ventricle and some damage to left ventricular apex. Get bypass ready."

The monitor at the top of the bed, gives a series of sharp beeps. "She's in VF."

"Ok, have the defib ready, I need to drain this blood or we'll never get her heart restarted. Scalpel, keep that suction steady." He moves quickly, his hands steady even as he feels the prickle of sweat start to bead across his forehead. "Pericardium's drained," he announces a few beats later. "Charge to one eighty. Everyone clear, charging."

The thud of the machine echoed through the room. "Asystole."

Charles mutters a round of profanity under his breath. "Commencing cardiac massage." His hand encloses around Elizabeth's still heart, starting to count out the compressions. He pauses at thirty, looking up at his anaesthetist. "Rhythm check," he requests, his voice calm, contained, everything he currently doesn't feel.

"Aystole."

"Going again. We are not letting the Secretary of State die on this table." He completes another cycle, the rest of the staff eerily quiet.

"VF," he is told at the end of the round.

"Right, ok. Charge to two-twenty. Everyone clear; charging,"

* * *

It is Jason who sees them first as Henry and Stevie walk into the residence. The teen jumps to his feet, fired up with righteous indignation. "Dad! They took my phone." He waves a hand wildly, eyes flashing. "Kept going on about security, as if my rights don't matter-"

"Jason, will you shut up!" Stevie snaps, her hand pressing against her mouth as, despite her best efforts, she starts to cry.

Alison takes a small step forward, her eyes swivelling between her sister's blotched face - realising this isn't the first time she's cried recently - and her Dad's pained expression. "What is it? What's happened?"

Her Dad's arms slide over her and Jason's shoulders. "You need to sit down for this," he tells them, his voice shaky as he leads them to the sofa.


	4. Chapter 4

**This chapter's timeline overlaps slightly with the chapter before.**

* * *

Nadine Tolliver feels the oddest sense of deja-vu drift over her as she listens to the voice of Russell Jackson's P.A. on the other end of her office phone. Her slim, white fingers tighten their grip on the receiver, and she can feel her stomach flutter and roll as she utters the exact same words she had said the last time this she had taken a call like this. "I'm sorry, can you repeat that?"

"The Secretary of State has been shot."

"Yes, I thought that's what you said." Nadine sags into her chair. Last time she had been at home, in her own little bubble as the shock and grief had crashed over her. This time, in her office, it feels even more surreal. The fluorescent lighting, that she had never liked but had never given any great amount of notice to before, was making her retinas itch. She can hear the voices of staff in the corridor, the laughter and chatter continuing as though nothing has changed. "Where?" she finally asks.

"Lincoln Park."

"And is she alright?" Nadine squeezes her eyes shut at the banality of that question. The woman had been shot, there was nothing _alright_ about it. She corrects herself, "I mean, is it serious?"

The hesitation before Abby answers means that Nadine already knows the situation before it's confirmed to her. "She's critical," comes the quiet, sombre reply. "Russell has asked that your press officer prepares a short statement for the press, that can be delivered once the story hits the media."

Nadine frowns. "What kind of statement? We don't know anything."

"He just said to confirm the shooting but past that, keep it vague. We'll update you as we get more information."

"Very well." Nadine knows it isn't worth arguing over a press statement and beside given the lack of information she has, keeping it vague will be easy. She has a sudden thought. "What about Dr McCord, was he injured?"

"He wasn't with her. He's on his way to the hospital now."

Nadine frowns, Elizabeth had been clear that she was meeting her husband for lunch, as if her smile of excitement hadn't been obvious enough. The poor man must have been running late. "Is there anything else we need to be aware of?" she finally asks.

"Just that the McCord children have been secured. We don't know whether this is part of a wider attack, so all security precautions have commenced. We'll make sure that you're updated with any changes."

"Thank you." Nadine's hand shakes as she places the phone back down into its cradle. She blinks a couple of times and takes in a few deep breaths in an effort to clear her head, before looking at the clock. Elizabeth had left just over thirty minutes ago, and now… Nadine chokes back a sudden sob, pressing her hand against her mouth, her fingertips applying pressure to her cheekbones as she forces herself to pull it together. Now isn't the time for histrionics. She has done this once, and as much as she might not want to, she could and would do it again if needs must. Her spine straightens and she grabs her mobile as she makes her way back to the others in the conference room.

The door is ajar and she can hear them debating inside, can smell the Thai food they ordered for lunch, and knows that the remains of hers will be congealing where she left it when she'd rushed out to take that call. Matt is speaking as she steps into the room. "I'm just saying that maybe, maybe, we should have taken this opportunity to go out for lunch. I mean an enforced lunch at this desk is fine when we have no other option, but people, today, _today_ we had options." He tells them all as shovels a forkful of noodles into his mouth.

Daisy's nose wrinkles at the sight and she waves her fork around aimlessly. "Let's face it, If we'd went out then we would just have spent all of our lunch break in some horrendous queue, plus you know there would have been no guarantee of a table."

Blake gives a small snort, arching an eyebrow at his colleagues. "I _did_ spend a lot of time in said horrendous queue, and I did it without complaint so that we could have a decent lunch. Some gratitude would be nice."

"I am grateful. Just commenting that we should be making the most of our breaks when we get them." Matt retorts. "Because let's face it, we don't get that many." He glances over to where Nadine is standing in the doorway, watching them, her expression pinched. He sighs, putting down his container and guessing, "You're about to tell us that our lunch is over, aren't you?"

It is Jay who notices the pain in Nadine's face, which has lost what little pallor she had, not to mention that she was resting her hand against the doorframe, as if to steady herself. He leans forward as he asks, "What's happened?"

Nadine focuses on a spot on the back wall, she can't bring herself to look at anyone's face as she breaks the news, "The Secretary has been shot."

* * *

Jason feels oddly calm as he stares at his Dad, his head tilting as he takes onboard what he is being told. He hears Alison start to sniffle next to him, watching as Stevie pulls her into a hug. He looks down at his hands and belatedly realises that his fingers have curled into fists, his fingernails biting into the skin of his palms. Funny, he could see the half-moon marks left by his nails and yet he hadn't even been aware he was doing it.

"You alright there, Jase?"

His head jerks up. "Yeah. Yeah of course," he answers unthinkingly.

"Ok." His Dad sounds as though he doesn't believe him, but he chooses not to push it, instead looking between the three of them, his features strained, his jaw tense. He doesn't look like himself, Jason thinks. He's heard that phrase before but has never really understood up it until now.

Silence stretches out between them all until Alison's voice, quiet and unsure breaks through it, "But Mom's going to be ok, isn't she Dad?"

Jason cuts in before he can answer. "He can't tell us that."

"You don't know that, he might know."

His temper suddenly flares. "You think they would stick us in a fancy room in the Whitehouse, take our phones from us and ban us from the TV if she was going to be fine?"

"They've moved us to secure areas before and everything has ended up being ok," Alison shoots back at him.

"Nowhere as nice as this, they probably want us to think well of them when they eventually drop the news that she's dead."

"Jason, that's enough!" Henry's voice cuts through Alison and Stevie's horrified squeal. He shakes his head. "Noodle, I don't know what's going to happen, but your Mum is under the care of some of the best surgeons in DC-"

Jason jumps to his feet, unable to listen to this for any longer, he's not interested in platitudes. "Yeah, whatever," he snorts in disgust. He takes a few steps and then pauses, realising that he isn't even sure where he can storm off to. Glancing around the room he lets out a growl of annoyance and then stomps off in the direction of the kitchen.

"Just give me a minute," Henry tells his daughters, his hand briefly resting on Stevie's shoulder as he gets up to follow his son into his self-imposed exile. He finds him lounging against a counter, his arms crossed across himself as he glowers at the floor. "Want to tell me what that was all about?" He asks.

Jason doesn't even look up at him. "How can I believe anything we're told?" He kicks his foot once, twice against the front of a cupboard. "Governments make things look like whatever they need them to. Look at the way they kept us in the dark, probably so they had time to hide evidence."

Henry gives a sigh of annoyance. "Jason, I'm not in the mood to discuss conspiracy theories with you right now. You've really upset your sisters."

"Yeah, _I've_ upset them." He rolls his eyes and kicks the cupboard again, this time leaving a dark mark against the white wood.

Reaching out, Henry places his hand on Jason's forearm. "Stop that," he tells him firmly, the noise was echoing in his ears and although he knows it's irrational, he can feel his anger growing.

"Worried I'm going to cause damage to state property?" Jason looks up, his eyes flash in anger, but his mouth twists with barely disguised hurt. "Because they weren't as bothered about damaging our family, were they?"

Henry feels a sudden wave of understanding wash over him. Jason needs someone to rage against, and in the absence of a name, of a known person to direct his anger towards, then a faceless organisation will do the trick. "Jase, we don't know why this happened yet."

"Yeah, we do, it's because of her job, of course it is. She wouldn't have been targeted if she was still working at UVA, would she?"

Henry's lips thin as he admits, "No, probably not. But I'm not lying to you when I say that the doctors are going to do everything the can. Your Mom isn't dead, I'm not lying to you."

Jason looks up at him, his bottom lip wavering. "You said you were at the hospital; did you see her?"

"I did," Henry confirms.

His eyes growing wet with tears, Jason asked, "Did she say anything?"

"No, she was unconscious when I got there," he replies on a deep sigh, the confession feeling as though it's being torn from him. His hand squeezes Jason's shoulder. "But I promise that I'll answer any of your questions as honestly as I can, I won't hide anything from you. I promise."

Jason gives a sniff and he wipes at his nose with his sleeve. "She tried to hug me this morning, and I was so annoyed about that stupid calculator… that I…that I…" He sniffs again, looking away from his Dad and back at the floor as he forces himself to continue, ashamed of how he had acted that morning. "I dodged out of the way, and I ignored her when she tried to say goodbye. What if that's the last time I speak to her? Or see her?"

Henry pulls his son into a tight hug, feeling his tears start to seep through the material at the shoulder of his shirt. "You need to stop being angry with yourself about this."

"How?"

For a moment, Henry pauses, unsure how best to answer that; because he was angry with himself. He had lost track of time, he had left his wife standing there and perhaps if he'd been there…Catching himself, he reminds himself that now isn't the time for this. "Because she isn't angry with you," he tells him.

"How do you know that?"

"Because I know your Mom," Henry replies simply. "And when I spoke to her this morning, after you left, she wasn't annoyed with you."

Jason steps back from the hug, closed fists swiping away his tears as he meets his Dad's forthright gaze. "How do I know you're not just saying that?" He mumbles.

"Ethics professor," Henry manages to quip. "You know I'll always tell you the truth, even if it's something you don't want to hear."

A small, bubbling laugh escapes Jason. "I suppose that's true."

Henry wraps his arm around Jason's shoulder. "Come on, we should go back through."

"I'll…I'll apologise to Allison."

"Good," Henry replies simply, proud of his son for not needing prompting on this. He leads Jason back through, to where his girls were sitting, curled against one another.

As Alison looks up, Jason steps forward. "I'm sorry," he tells her. "I shouldn't have said that, I-"

"It's ok," she replies softly, not letting him finish. "You were upset."

"Yeah." He rubs the back of his head, looking sheepish. "But that's not an excuse."

"It is, but just for this once." Alison holds out an arm, gesturing her brother over and Jason goes willingly, joining the group hug with his sisters.

Henry feels a blast of pride for his children. He and Elizabeth have raised them well, have taught them to stick together in tough situations. At the thought of his wife, he clears his throat, waiting until the three look back up at him. "I'm going to go back to the hospital," he tells them all.

Stevie gives a decisive nod as she tells him firmly, "I'm coming with you."

"Me too," pipes up Alison.

"Me three," Jason follows swiftly.

"It's going to be a while before we get any news," Henry reminds them. "If you'd rather, you can stay here until we have the all clear to go back to the house. I promise to let you all know the second that there's any news."

"I'm not going home until I know what's going to happen with Mom," Jason asserts, his jaw jutting stubbornly, his eyes flashing.

"Stevie and I feel the same Dad, if we're going to wait, then we should all wait together," Alison tells him as she folds her arms across herself.

Henry looks between his three children and he has to remind himself that they are growing up and that as much as he wants to, he can't protect them from this. At least this way he would be with them and near Elizabeth. "Ok, I'll arrange a car and we can get going."

He has only taken a few steps when a harried Russell appears in the archway leading into the room. He glances at the children before turning to Henry. "Can I have a minute?"

Henry looks back at his children, sees the way Stevie edges forward, the look of fear on Alison's face and remembers his promise to Jason. "Whatever it is, you can tell me now," he tells him firmly.

"Alright." Russell gives a deep sigh before announcing, "The media knows, it's over every outlet. Henry, you need to know…there's a video."

* * *

Daisy feels her hands shake as she stares at the blank document on her laptop screen, her fingers hovering over the keyboard. She finally lowers them to type and then stops, deleting the words as quickly as she had put them down. "I don't know what to write," she admits to Jay after a moment.

Jay has been leaning against her wall, staring aimlessly into space, so her words cause him to jerk slightly, looking over at her in mild surprise, as though he's forgotten she is even there. "What?"

"I don't know what to write for this statement," she tells him again. "Keep it vague. That should be easy, especially since we don't actually know anything, but it isn't." She chews at her bottom lip for a moment before she adds quietly, "I didn't think we'd have to do this again."

Jay rubs at his temples. "No. I mean, what are the chances?" He shakes his head in disbelief, glancing out of the glass partition wall into the main office. Nobody else knows yet, just them, so everyone else continues to rush around as though it were business as usual.

"How long until you think they tell us how she is?"

"I don't know." Jay shakes his head. "But if they haven't told us much by now then it can't be good."

"Do…do you think that she's…that she's-"

"No," Jay interrupts firmly. "That they would have told us." A frown crosses his features. "At least I think they would."

"Yeah…I mean we knew quite quickly with Secretary Marsh."

The door flies open and Matt rushes in, his laptop open and tucked under his arm. "Turn on the TV." He gestures to the one fixed in the high corner of the room. When they don't react, he waves his hands in a hurried motion, his tone urgent. "Guys, now, TV."

Daisy reaches for the remote and clicks it on as she lets out a sigh. It is already set to the twenty-four-hour news, because it's the only thing they ever get to watch in here.

" _Breaking news, we have unconfirmed reports that Secretary of State, Elizabeth McCord has been shot. Initial information suggests that she has been taken to George Washington University hospital for treatment. The Whitehouse and the State department have yet to issue a statement."_

Daisy makes a scoffing noise of disgust at the back of her throat as she turns off the TV after a few seconds, knowing that what will follow will be pure speculation. "Well, we knew they'd get hold of this at some point." Her head sinks into her hands. "I need to come up with a statement. Matt, you can make yourself useful and help?"

"No, you don't get it, that's only part of it," Matt tells her grimly. He pulls his laptop out from under his arm, beckoning Jay over as he shows them both the screen. "I have an alert set so I can see anything that has certain keywords in it and this was uploaded to youtube a few minutes ago."

The screen flips to an initial grainy, blurred image that slowly comes into focus, the camera shaking slightly as it zooms in. A male voice talks over the footage _._

" _I'm telling you that's the Secretary of State."_

" _You sure?"_

" _Definitely, look at the suits next to her."_

_Elizabeth's form is clear as she moves out of the way of some runners, oblivious to the man in a dark grey hoodie and jeans approaching her as she stands alone, his face is shaded by a baseball cap. His hand digs into waistband of his jeans. A glint of metal catching the light._

" _Do you think that looks like…"_

_Elizabeth turns and, in that split second, he fires, his arm jerking backwards at the force of the shot._

_There is yelling, screaming. Elizabeth staggers for a second and then falls to the ground. The last shot is the man kneeling by her head, dropping his gun and placing his hands on his head as the phone jerks away from the scene._

Jay presses the laptop shut. "Why would anyone upload that?" he murmurs, shaking his head.

"I feel sick," Daisy announces, it had somehow managed to be worse than anything she had imagined. "That…Oh God. He just walked up to her!"

"I know," Matt replies. "I haven't told Nadine about it yet."

"Is she still in with Blake?"

Matt nods. "Yeah, she is, I looked in, but he still looks really upset and…well…I didn't think him seeing, or even knowing, about this would help."

"No, but she needs to know about it." Jay gestures at the screen. "Is that the only video?"

"So far, but you can guarantee someone's filmed the aftermath."

Daisy's lips twist in confusion as she realises something. "Her security…they weren't there."

"They were," Matt tells her grimly. "She goes one way and they go the other."

"But…that's what…a split-second decision? No one could have seen that coming," Daisy tells him. "And he was right there, like he was waiting on her."

Matt shrugs. "I mean I'm sure they'll find out."

Jay presses his fingers heavily against his temple, as he glances out into the main atrium, his frown deepening as he notices the small crowds starting to form around the computers and the faces that then turn to look in their direction. He clears his throat to get Daisy and Matt's attention. "For now we have a more pressing issue, I think the secrets out, whether we like it or not. Daisy, keep working on that statement. I better go and speak to Nadine."


	5. Chapter 5

"Back in sinus rhythm."

Charles Reynolds lets out a rush of breath at the words, his own heart racing, a cold sweat prickling at his back. He gives a nod, watching as the heart beneath his hands finally begins to beat again, slow but steady. "How long was she down?"

"Just under five minutes."

He swallows heavily, murmuring, "Borderline."

"You got her back," his anaesthetist tells him, her tone is almost chiding, a reminder of how infrequently this would happen. "That in itself is impressive, the level of damage-"

Charles waves his hand, cutting his colleague off. "I know, but she's the goddamn Secretary of State."

"On this table she's just another broken heart we're trying to fix." She glances back up at the monitor. Her nose wrinkles. "Christ, I didn't mean to sound that cheesy."

"It did sound quite after school special."

"Hmmm, it did. Don't worry it won't happen again." She assesses the numbers on the monitor. "Heart rate's still low."

"Is Bypass ready?"

"Yes."

"Good, because I don't think we'll get her back if this happens again. Can we arrange an CT brain alongside the one for her spine."

"I'll call down, add it to the request," one of the scrub nurses replies.

"Thank you." He gives a heavy sigh as he surveys the damage in front of him. "Right, let's hop to it people."

* * *

"There's a video."

Henry stares at Russell for a moment and then shakes his head. "I don't want to see it," he tells him, his voice is harsh, abrasive, even to his own ears. "But what I do want to know is if it shows the bastard who shot my wife."

"The face isn't clear, whoever took it, they were filming Elizabeth."

"I want to know who did this, and if that video doesn't show that, then I don't want to hear any more about it." He runs a hand through his hair, his eyes wide. "What the hell is wrong with people," he mutters. "Putting this up for everyone to see."

Russell makes a small tutting noise. "Technology means everyone thinks they can make a fast buck, have their moment in the limelight. I've already been in touch with the main news outlets, they won't broadcast it, for now at least-"

"For now?" Henry echoes dangerously. Elizabeth could die and the thought of people watching that for the sake of entertainment made his blood boil. She deserves better than that.

Russell face tightens as the strain of the situation begins to show. He gives a small shrug, his voice hoarse as he admits, "I can't control the media, much as I sometimes wish I could, I called in as many favours as I could; this was the best I could do."

Henry digs his hands into the pockets of his jeans, his hands balling into fists as he fights to keep his cool. His children are watching, he can't lose his temper, not now. He closes his eyes briefly, fighting against the headache building in his temples. He feels a gentle hand on his shoulder, as Stevie's voice asks him softly, "Dad, are you ok?"

His eyes open. "I'm fine." He pats her hand, managing a brief smile. "It's just a lot to take in, for all of us." He takes in a deep, shuddering breath, trying to separate out his jumble of racing thoughts, when one finally jumps out at him. "Will," he mutters. "Someone needs to tell Will."

Russell's lips pursed as he racks his brain for the memory of who that was. "I'll need more details," he finally admits grudgingly. "It's been a long day and my recall isn't what it normally is."

"Our Uncle," Stevie clarifies for him. "Mum's brother."

Henry hauls his phone out of his pocket. "I'll need to tell him, before he sees it on the news."

"I can send someone," Russell offers.

Shaking his head, Henry replied, "I should tell him." His hand shakes as he scrawls through his contacts, his stomach churning as he tried to think of the words he should use. He brings the phone to his ear, only for it to jump straight to voicemail. "He must have it turned off for work."

"I'll send someone across," Russell tells him. "You just concentrate on what you need to do."

Seeing her Dad blink slowly at his phone, the tremor in his hand and way his eyes are beginning to water, Stevie steps in. "We've decided to all go to the hospital, so that we can all be there when Mom comes out of surgery. Would someone be able to arrange a car?"

"Of course, I'll see to it personally," Russell assures her.

At that Henry's phone begins to ring. "It's your Aunt Maureen," he sighs tiredly. "She must have seen it on the news."

"I can talk to her Dad," Stevie offers quickly.

"No," he shakes his head. "I'll do it, I'll go into the kitchen. You three focus on getting your stuff together." He turns from his children and Russell, taking in a deep breath as he hits answer. "Hi Maureen-"

His older sister interrupts him. "Henry, I've just turned on the news, they're saying that Elizabeth has been shot. I've said to Tom that these news outlets get things wrong all the time, that they exaggerate, that if something like that had happened then we would have known, that you would have called."

Even now, Henry can hear the mild note of condemnation in her tone. "It's true," he admits heavily. "I haven't been able to call, it happened so quickly-"

"Oh God." He hears some rustling, before her more faded voice hisses to her husband, "Tom, it's true. Put the news channel back on." Henry sighs and waits for her to turn her attention back to him, his patience on a knife edge. "Well, how is she? The news is being uselessly vague," she complains, her tone is brusque. "Nothing too serious I hope."

"It's bad," Henry tells her bluntly. "She's in surgery, they're not sure…" he tails off, he just can't bring himself to say the words.

"Oh…" Maureen sounds taken aback. "Oh Henry, I'm sorry. Do you need me to come across? I can keep an eye on the kids."

"The kids are going to come to the hospital with me."

"Do you think that's a good idea? I hate to say this Henry, but if she's badly injured, then what if she doesn't-"

"Then we'll deal with it as a family," he tells her firmly, he can't deal with this right now, doesn't want to have this conversation. "Maureen, I'm sorry but I have to go. I'll let you know when I hear anything." Without waiting for a reply, he hangs up, resisting the urge to slam his phone against the counter-top, to smash it to pieces. Instead he takes another deep breath, he has to hold it together for their kids and to get to the hospital, to get to Elizabeth.

* * *

"I've had more news from the Whitehouse," Nadine tells the team. "The McCord family are on their way to the hospital, and Daisy they've read your statement and have added in an update regarding her condition. Other than that, it's been cleared. The press are waiting." She levels a look at the younger woman. "Are you ready?"

Daisy gives a curt nod. "As much as I can be." She only ever had to give one statement regarding Marsh's death and it had been one of condolence, with all the breaking news coming from the Whitehouse. This isn't a condolence but somehow it seems worse; she feels like she's about to throw herself to the wolves. She gives a brief, humourless laugh. "I really shouldn't be this nervous, I stand in front of that lot all the time."

"You will be fine," Nadine assures her.

"Any update on who's responsible? About whether this was an isolated attack?" Matt asks.

"Nothing yet."

"As in nobody knows or that they don't want to tell us?"

"As in I don't know," Nadine told him, her tone firm, ensuring that he knew this would be the end of this thread of conversation.

"How's Blake?" Jay asks.

"He has decided to go to the hospital and wait for news there. I tried to dissuade him, said that we should wait until we have more information, but-" she lifts her shoulders in a small, almost helpless shrug. "He was most insistent." She passes Daisy the pieces of white card that have the statement printed across them. "But what the rest of us need to do is keep this place running in the Secretary's absence. On that note I have been informed that the depute Secretary is on his way."

"This day just gets even more joyful," Matt remarks, rolling his eyes.

"Matt!" Daisy rebukes him sharply.

"Sorry, I didn't mean…" He shakes his head. "Doesn't matter, I'm sorry."

"It's fine," Jay tells them. "We'll stick together, and it'll be fine."

Daisy nods and looks up at the clock. "I should get out there, before they get too restless." With that she steps into the atrium and across to the briefing room, aware of the team following in her wake. The camera's click and flash, as she enters the room, journalists shout a jumble of questions at her as she moves behind the podium. She places her cards in front of her, doing another quick run through in her head as the others move into their positions behind her. She holds her hand up, waiting for silence, until she can only hear the whir of the video cameras. A second or two into the silence, she speaks, telling them, "I will be making a short statement but following that I won't be taking questions on this occasion. I can confirm that at approximately 12:35 today the Secretary of State, Elizabeth McCord was shot in Lincoln Park. Secretary McCord was taken to George Washington Hospital for treatment and is currently in surgery. The investigation is ongoing and currently I am unable to share any further details. The thoughts and prayers of the President and the entire State Department are with Secretary McCord and her family at this difficult time." With that she finishes. Her hands have the mildest of tremors as she gathers her cards, the journalists continue to shout their questions as she leaves the room, and she thinks her legs might buckle.

Matt gives her arm a brief squeeze as he caught up to her. "You did good."

Daisy gives an absent-minded nod. She did her job, but on days like these that doesn't seem particularly helpful.

* * *

Ray Merchant blinks heavily, swaying in his seat as the chain of his handcuffs clinks against the table. Every thought he has runs together until it is one confusing jumble that he can't cut through. The door to the room opens, two men in suits sit down across from him, their eyes burning into him. The one on the left hits a tape recorder. They say their names into, he can't focus to remember them, they slip like water from his memory. One looks down at the file in front of him. "Ray Merchant." He says it as though it were a question. Ray wonders if it is.

"You've had quite the day," the other one remarks.

Ray thinks about the day, it all seems so hazy, as though it hasn't really happened. He is sure that it has though, was sure he'd finally confronted her, that he's finally had his moment, taken his revenge and so he gives a nod.

"Anyone else plan that day with you?"

He can answer that. "No, it was just me." His hands had shook before it, he remembers that. He'd taken the Valium to help, had taken it ever since he'd made his decision to pick up the gun and anytime he thought he might get his chance he would take some. Short term they lifted the anger enough to help him focus, after that though they made everything seem even hazier.

"Hmmm, not sure if we can take your word for that Ray. You want to tell us your version of what happened today?"

He smiles. "I saw her, I finally saw her. Tried for weeks but could never get close to her. She was teasing me. She was ignoring me." He is tired now, he'd taken a couple more tablets today, worried that they were starting to lose their effect. He'll need to sleep soon. Sleep helped, after that rush of sharp focus, he would let sleep wash over him, thinking about her and planning as it claimed him. He blinks again, long and slow. "At first I only wanted to talk, tried to talk, but she never gave me the chance, never wanted to listen." He licks his lips, they're dry, cracked at the edges. "I was angry; s'why I brought the gun. Then I saw her." He looks at the two men. "I'm tired," he tells them. "I need to sleep."

"Later. Tell us about your day first."

Ray shakes his head. "No, I need to sleep." He presses his head into his forearm and lets his eyes close. Ignoring their calls as he thinks of what he's done today, of the expression on Elizabeth's face and he smiles again as he lets blissful oblivion claim him.

.


	6. Chapter 6

**Trauma surgeons aren't really a thing in the UK. So apologies if this isn't accurate.**

**Thank you for all the reviews so far.**

* * *

"Look, I have my staff ID," Blake insists, rummaging in the jacket of his suit.

"Even if you have ID there isn't anything I can tell you, and there isn't anywhere for you to wait other than these seats outside the ward. I'm sorry, Mr…"

"Moran, Blake Moran." He gives a weak attempt at a smile, pulls his suit jacket straight and tries again. "What about if I get the security agents to confirm who I am. Would that help?"

The ward clerkess gives him an exasperated look. "The agents aren't here right now."

"But the doctor in the emergency department said that Secretary McCord would be coming here after her surgery. So, they should be here." He looks around the corridor, as he talks, as if expecting to see some sign of the service.

Her jaw tightens, her eye twitching momentarily as she gives a strained reply, she's beginning to feel a headache build at her temples "Well the doctor shouldn't have passed on any information to you."

"But they did, and I just want to know how she is."

"And I can't pass on that information." Her expression finally softens slightly as she takes in his miserable expression. "Mr Moran, all I can suggest is that you either wait here, outside the ward or you go elsewhere. Patient confidentiality means that even if I know anything, I'm unable to divulge it to you. You aren't her next of kin."

Blake nodded. "Ok, ok," he finally relents with a sigh. "I'll wait outside, but if you hear anything and Mr McCord is happy for me to be told-"

"Then someone will update you," she assures him and inclines her head in the direction of hard plastic chairs that lined the wall.

He holds his hands up in defeat. "I'm going." He drops down onto a seat and winces in discomfort as the hard edge digs into his spine. He sighs as he watches the woman who he's just spent the last five minutes debating with return to the ward area through the double doors. In politics you just had to push hard enough for long enough and you'd get what you wanted. He's beginning to realise that real life and politics don't always merge.

Leaning his head against the wall, Blake gives yet another sigh, he had rushed down here, thinking that he'd be able to do something, that he'd be able to help and he was wrong. Still though, he sat there and didn't make any move to get up and head back to the office. After all where else would he go? His place was at her side. She had hired him, given him his chance at a new, more meaningful carer. She was his mentor, but more than that, he classed her as friend and you always stayed for friends.

* * *

Will Adams whistles jauntily as he meanders down the hospital corridor after a successful surgery. He had worried that when he moved from trauma surgery, from working in places where he was desperately needed, that he would start to find his new job frustrating, limiting. Instead, he had been pleased to find that the contrast presented him with a new set of challenges.

His original job out in the field had been to save the person on the table in front of him, with limited resources; no matter what it took. That was the priority, you saved their life and you didn't really consider the aftermath, what the recovery might be. His job at the military hospital was to deal with those after-effects, to make the best of the decisions that had made in the field. He saw the other side of the mirror, was given the chance to improve upon the life saving and make it liveable. At other times what had been done in the field was a patch, a sticking plaster, and his job was to make it permanent. In the end he enjoyed it, enjoyed getting the chance to see his patients progress.

When he'd first gone into medicine he had needed to save as many lives as possible, hoping that if he saved enough people it would burn away the memory of the one person he had failed. It had never been enough; it could never be enough. He was able to accept that now, after all these years, he'd never forgot but he felt like he could finally move forward.

He reaches an awkward point in his tune, his whistle breaking slightly at the effort it takes him to hit that note. His mood is bright, and even the thought of the impending ward round can do nothing to dampen it. Approaching the nurse's desk on the surgical floor, he asks Katy, "Who's joining me on this afternoon's round?"

Katy glances up at him. "That would be Sister Rawlings. On your left," she tells him, nodding her head behind him.

Sister Rawling's firm voice cut in. "Ah Dr Adams, good of you to join us. As I heard you had finished in theatre, I took the opportunity to gather up your band of miscreants." She grimaces as she glances at the handful of interns behind her. Will stifles a smile at her irritation, even he had to admit that this batch were particularly green around the ears.

He shoots a winning smile in her direction. "I know I'm late, I know it should be the morning but that's the game of emergency surgery for you."

"Mmmhmmm. And whilst that is understandable, it does throw off the routine of the ward. So…" she gestures her arm in the direction of the patient's rooms. Shall we?"

"Of course. Dr Taylor, would you like to tell us about our first patient."

The young man stumbles forward, grabbing the chart outside the room door. "Yeah, I can do that."

"I'm glad to hear it." Will walks into the room and smiles at his patient. "Good afternoon, Jake. How are we today?"

Jake pulls his eyes away from the TV screen fixed to his wall to answer, "Yeah I'm alright doc, still think I can feel it though." He gestures down at the space where his left leg should have been.

Dr Taylor butts in at this point. "Jake Michaels, caught in an IED explosion a fortnight ago. Left foot amputated in the field, severe shrapnel wounds meant that on arrival a below knee amputation was required, despite attempts to save the leg-"

Cutting in, Jake asks, "Do I have to hear this at every ward round?" He attempts a weak smile and tries to inject some lightness into his tone. "It's not exactly what I'd class as a fond memory."

"A fair point." Will turns to the interns and keeps his tone even as he tells them, "I think going forward, unless I'm reviewing a new admission or covering a patient we can drop the back story and simply focus on the here and now. Dr Taylor I'll take it from here, but don't panic you'll get the chance later in the round again." He looks back at his patient. "Phantom leg pain is common, I can start some gabapentin, it should either help dull or get rid of the sensation for you."

"Yeah, thanks doc, don't like leaning down to fix it and then remembering it's not there."

"Then we'll add it to your chart, we'll start in with your evening meds to begin with, it can make you a tad drowsy. How's the wound looking Sister?"

"Small de-hissed area, about an inch long at the left edge of the wound. It's been packed and dressed, there's a fair bit of exudate so it will need done daily to begin with. It was done this morning, although I can have it stripped down if you'd like to see it."

"No redness or swelling?"

"None."

"Jake, any increased pain?"

"Nope, they give me that oramorph before they dress it and it works a treat. The rest of the time it's ok with my regular painkillers."

"Good, then I think we can leave the wound alone till tomorrow. Can we arrange for the dressing to be taken down for the round?"

"Of course, Dr Adams." Sister Rawlings nods and makes a note of it on her clipboard.

"And how's the physio going?"

Jake's attention has drifted back to the TV. "Oh sorry, I missed what you asked, been getting caught up in the news. You seen it Dr Adams?"

"Not recently, I've been in theatre this morning and I tend to prefer a bit of classic rock in there if I'm honest. I do prefer to think of it as just rock though." He glances up momentarily at the screen and sees a picture of his sister in the right-hand corner. The volume has been turned down. He looks back down at the drug kardex as he remarks calmly "More drama at the State Department, I take it." Very few people know that Elizabeth is his sister, it wasn't that he'd hidden it, it was just that it wasn't something that came up in conversation, and most of the time he prefers it that way. This being a military hospital, politics and politicians are debated frequently, he doesn't want any added awkwardness.

"You could say that. Someone shot the Secretary of State."

Will's head bounces back up from the chart he had been contemplating, thinking that he must have heard that wrongly. "What was that?"

"Someone shot her, in Lincoln Park of all places."

Will feels his stomach roll. His voice comes out croakier than he likes, as he asks, "And is she, is she?"

"She's alive apparently. In surgery," Jake tells him, his head tilting in curiosity as he eyes his surgeon.

"Dr Adams, are you alright? You've gone rather pale," Sister Rawlings comments, her lips pursing in concern.

"I…ah…need a moment of air." He tells her as he steps from the room, aware of the confused stares of his interns.

The nurse follows him, instructing. "Sit down, I'll go and get you some water."

Will drops into the seat, resting his head on his knees as the blood rushes in his ears. His mobile is in his office, they won't have been able to reach him. Not that he would have been Henry's priority right now. Wait, was Henry with her? The kids? He felt increasingly like he was about to throw up the sandwich he'd inhaled post-op, as his mind races over countless possibilities, none of them good.

"Dr Adams." He hears Sister Rawling's voice again and looks up to see her now flanked by two men in suits. She hands him his water as she calmly tells him, "These two men are from the secret service." He has to hand it to the woman, she was nothing if not unflappable.

"Elizabeth?" He mutters, he looks at them almost hopelessly, fearing the worst.

* * *

Henry is taken aback as he and the kids approach the intensive care unit, surprised to see a miserable looking Blake camped out on a row of plastic chairs, his head pressing against the wall behind him. His normally impeccable suit is looking rumpled, while a thin strand of his hair stands up on edge from the side of his head. His head rolls forward at the sound of footsteps and he jumps to his feet when he sees who it is. "Dr McCord, how are you?" He winces. "Sorry, that is an incredibly stupid question."

Henry manages a wan smile. "We're holding up. How are you, Blake?"

"I'm ok. I just thought…I mean I wanted to come down here and find out how Secretary McCord is doing."

"Have you heard anything?" Henry asks, a tone of urgency creeping into his voice.

Blake shakes his head. "Nothing. They won't tell me anything. Anything I've heard has been from the twenty-four-hour news channel and that's just circulating Daisy's statement and then adding a whole lot of speculation."

"Oh." Henry's face falls. "Well you can wait with us. They said there was somewhere we could sit, that Elizabeth would be coming here after surgery."

"Are you sure that's ok?

Henry nods at his wife's personal assistant. "Of course it is." He knows how close they are, so it only seems right. He leans forward to hit the buzzer at the side of the entrance to the ITU.

There wait for a minute or so, and Henry lifts his hand to buzz again, when Blake says from behind him, "They come to the door, I made that mistake earlier and got an earful for it."

Biting back his impatience, Henry waits until the door is pulled open, although his right foot taps out an agitated beat on the floor. A petite woman is now standing in the open gap as though she's some form of sentinel. "I'm the ward clerkess, how can I help you?" she asks him, her eyes flickering in vague recognition of his face.

"I'm Henry McCord, I was told to come here to wait for my wife."

"Of course." She nods, stepping forward and letting the heavy door fall closed with a clunk behind her, as she digs a key out of the pocket of her tunic. "The family room is just down here." She leads the family a little way down the corridor, unlocking one of the doors. "Your agents cleared the room earlier." She lets them file past her. "Would you like any tea or coffee?" She gives a sheepish Blake the side eye as he slides past her.

Henry still can't bear the thought of eating or drinking. He shakes his head. "No, thank you."

"Very well. There are machines in the main atrium if you change your mind. If there are any updates then a member of staff will come to you."

The door shuts with a soft thud as she leaves. Henry sits down next to his two younger children, letting Allison rest her head against his shoulder, pulling her into a hug.

* * *

Ray Merchant's roommate, Sam, jumps out of his skin when the FBI had stormed into their shared flat, guns pointed at him as they order him to lie on the floor, hands out stretched. He shakes uncontrollably as they pat him down and then haul him up onto his feet, barking questions at him.

"Look I don't know the guy that well. He'd answered an ad on Gumtree," he splutters, watching as they pulled out every item they own out and throw it to the floor.

The agent questioning him, surveys him through narrowed, untrusting eyes, before a shout of, "Sir, you should come see this," draws his attention to Ray's bedroom. He turns away from Sam with a muttered, "Watch him."

Agent Archer stomps into the room, to find his colleague holding a shoe box filled to the brim with pictures. He pulls on a pair of gloves as he riffles through them. They were all of the Secretary of State, some of her alone, some with her staff and others with her family. He sucks in a deep breath. "How the hell did he get close enough to take all of these?"

"So far they're all in public places. It's not unusual for the public to take pictures, he would just have needed to blend in."

Agent Archer turns one over and let out a low whistle. "He's even put the date and time on all of them."

"That's helpful. You know, in a weird way."

He gives the younger man a look designed to silence. "Anything else?"

"Another box of photos and a diary."

Suddenly feeling grubby, he throws the picture in his hand back into the box. "Bag all of it, and then lets get back to ask Mr Merchant about his photography hobby."


	7. Chapter 7

**The next update definitely won't be as quick as this one. As back to work I go. Although I'm not planning it on being almost a year. That was a definite slip.**

* * *

"Uncle Will!" Alison jumps out of her seat and hurries to hug her uncle, who has burst through the door of the family room, her siblings quickly following suit

Will hugs his nieces and nephew tightly. "I'm so glad to see all of you," he tells them. "I hope you don't mind; I asked the car to bring me straight here."

"Of course we don't mind. Mom would want you here," Stevie replies firmly.

"It's only right you're here," Henry tells him, getting jerkily to his feet. Seeing Will brings on a fresh wave of guilt, his brother-in-law has already lost so much; what if his decision today causes him to lose even more?

Will pulls his brother-in-law into a hug. The man looks awful, his face is pale, his eyes hollow; it was a look that Will often sees in his line of work, but it was a thousand times worse to see it on the face of a family member. "Any news?" He asks in a hushed tone.

"None," Henry states grimly. "We're still waiting." He presses his hands awkwardly into the pockets of his jeans again. "I'm sorry about the welcome committee, I did try to phone-"

"It's fine. I'd been in theatre, so my phone was in my office. I had your missed call and about twenty from Sophie." He manages a reassuring smile. He doesn't blame Henry for the way he'd found out, the man would have had enough on his plate, and he had tried to get hold of him. "Speaking of Sophie, she's going to drop by with some food soon, keep us all going for a bit."

Henry simply gives a nod, his attention drifting to the small window again. Stevie gives a weak smile as she attempts to fill in the silence. "That's really nice of her, but I don't think any of us are that hungry."

"You might not feel like it, but believe me you need to eat something," Will tells them. "And given the circumstances I don't think we should be wandering down to the canteen." He glances around the room again and noted the dark haired man perched on the edge of his seat, looking particularly awkward. He holds out his hand. "Sorry, don't think we've met. I'm Will Adam's, Elizabeth's brother"

Blake scrambles up, taking the proffered hand. "Blake Moran, I'm her personal assistant."

Stevie smiles. "That's him being modest, he's Mom's right hand."

"Well someone has to keep her in check, make sure she stays out of trouble," Will jokes, immediately wishing he hadn't when he saw Henry's shoulder stiffen at his words. His normally relaxed brother in law looked as though he was close to a melt-down, he could see a vein starting to pulse at his temple. "You know the one thing I think I forgot to ask Sophie to bring was juice," he tells the room. "And I could do with a coffee."

"I can go get that," Blake offers quickly, determined to be useful.

"That's ok. It'll need more than one of us. Henry can give me a hand."

Henry lifts his head, torn from his brooding as he glances back across at hearing his name. "Sorry, I missed that. What did you say, Will?"

"I said about going to get some drinks. You for one look like you need a strong black coffee." He nods at the door. "Come on, quicker we go, quicker we'll be back."

"I don't have any change," Henry mumbles.

"That's fine, I made sure I brought plenty." Will pulls open the door and gestures for Henry to go first, determined not to give him any other option. He waits until they are further down the corridor, heading towards the main atrium when he asks, "So what do we know so far?"

"That why you dragged me out here?"

"Partially, figured that as open as you might be with the kids, you'll probably still gloss over some of the facts. I want the facts. I also dragged you out here because you look like you might need a break from all those eyes on you."

"There's eyes out here as well," Henry points out dryly.

"There is, but they're not your kids. You don't need to act like everything is going to be fine. So…spit it out."

Henry gives a ragged sigh and rubs his temples with his thumb and ring finger. "What do you want to know first?"

"We'll start with Elizabeth. They said she was shot, but they didn't tell me anything else. The news tells me she's in surgery, but I don't know what for exactly. Although looking at your face, I'm guessing it's not just a flesh wound."

Henry shook his head. "No, it's not. I don't know many of the details, not yet. She was separated from her detail, he walked up to her and…" He tailed off, swallowing heavily before trying again. "Close range," he whispered. "They said there was damage to her lung, possibly her heart, the bullet was caught at her rib."

The wonder of practising medicine was the ability to detach yourself – at least initially – from the raw emotion of the situation, to take in the details and to think of them logically before making a move. Will had never been more grateful of that fact than he was right now, as he thinks through what he's just been told. "Did you see her?" he asks.

"Yeah, but by the time I got there she was unconscious, they were just about to take her to surgery."

"Ok." Will gave a nod, his mind still whirring, working out the details. "When was that?"

Henry glances up at the clock on the wall across from the vending machines. "About two hours ago."

"How long did they say surgery would take?"

"Three to four hours, possibly more."

"Right. So that's good." Henry looks at him incredulously at those words and so Will explains his thoughts further. "Damage to her lung and to her heart means that they'll probably need to use a bypass machine, it does the work of both while keeping everything perfectly still so that they can fix the damage. Two hours means that they've been able to get her onto the machine, that they've at least been able to get that far." He had another thought, unless they'd had to put her on during an arrest, that would be sailing close to the wind, would be a last chance option if she'd crashed and they'd not been able to resuscitate her. He wouldn't think about that possibility and he certainly wasn't going to mention it, instead he clapped his hand against Henry's shoulder. "Sometimes the longer these things take, the better."

Henry hesitates before telling him, "The only time I've seen that much blood was when I was duty and it was never from one person."

Will fights to keep the smile of reassurance on his face. "It's different when it's someone you care about as well."

"Yeah, I suppose, but I keep thinking, how can she lose all of that and come out the other end of it?"

"She can, she's a fighter. George Washington is filled to the brim with brilliant surgeons. They got her here quickly. She's in with a shout." Will slips some coins into the coffee machine. "Do want you your usual, or something stronger?"

Henry sinks down onto one of the seats across from him. "I don't think I can stomach it."

"You need it and you're getting some extra sugar put in there as well."

"Anything, then," Henry mumbles.

"Usual it is. Probably not the time to experiment." He glances over his shoulder to see Henry sink his head into his hands, his fingers gripping into his scalp. One of the security detail edges closer, a look of concern on his face. Will shakes his head. On seeing him take a step back again, Will moves to the seat next to Henry and nudges him, pressing the plastic cup into his hands, when he looks up. "So, other than the obvious, what else is bothering you?" He takes a sip of his own coffee and grimaces, that machine stuff is truly dreadful, as if relatives weren't suffering enough, they then have to inflict this bilge water onto them. "Oh, and don't bother to try to deny it. I'm an expert in identifying people who are torturing themselves. Did it to myself for long enough."

Henry stares at the wall ahead of him as he finally admits, "I left her standing there, alone, in that park. I was meant to meet her, I lost track of time and I ended up phoning to cancel. Spoke to her just minutes before…" He closes his eyes, pressing the heel of his free hand into his forehead, trying to press away the pain in his head, his voice taking on an edge of anger as he continues. "I was meant to be with her and maybe if I'd been where I was supposed to be-"

"This wouldn't have happened?" Will supplies.

Opening his eyes, Henry swallows painfully and nods. "Yeah. If I'd been there then we might have been in a different part of the park, or she wouldn't have ended up separated from the detail, or he might not even have approached her-"

"Or he might have just shot both of you," Will points out calmly, blowing on his coffee before taking another sip and grimacing again. "This stuff is awful. I might need to risk the canteen after all."

Henry looks at him. "I feel like you should be angry with me. If something happens to her then it's my fault."

"No, it's the fault of the guy who shot her." Will sighs and leans back, glancing across at Henry. "Henry, I get it. I really do. I questioned every part of the day my parents died. Examined every angle and every little thing that I could have done differently, anything that might have changed the outcome. And yeah of course I found things, there's always going to be ifs and buts if you look for them. But, if this guy had decided today was the day, for whatever reason, then chances are he would have shot you as well. And the kids would be sitting in the same situation that Elizabeth and I ended up in. Maybe this was the way it was supposed to play out-"

Henry lets out a scoff. "Like fate."

"I think that the religious scholar should maybe mock that idea a little bit less," Will teases him. "But yeah. You might think that if you'd been there you could have stopped this, sad fact is it's happened and wondering about it doesn't do anybody any favours. Save your anger for the man who deserves it, focus on getting justice for Elizabeth, focus on supporting her when she gets out of theatre."

"You know she'll never believe that you were the calm, sensible one out of us."

"I know," he gives a mock, heavy, pained sigh, a small smile toying at the corners of his lips. "Yet another burden I'll have to bear as the put-upon younger brother."

Unable to help himself, Henry lets out a snort of laughter at Will's martyr-like expression. Finally he takes a mouthful of coffee, the first thing he'd had since hearing the news about Elizabeth, and lets out a cough as the bitter liquid hits the back of his throat. "Christ."

"Yeah, it's grim." Will takes another sip of his, adding. "They probably haven't cleaned that machine in years."

* * *

Ray feels most of his fuzziness subside. He can look at the photographs in front of him and remember taking them. He hears his lawyer tell him, "You don't need to answer any of these questions."

He blinks at the older man. He can't remember the question, but why wouldn't he answer it? She tormented him, they needed to know that. He turns back to the agents. "What did you ask?"

"We asked about the photos. Why did you take them?"

He presses his finger down on one, it was in a clear pocket now, and he drew it closer to him. He could remember that day. It had been the first week. She'd been at a fundraiser for her middle daughter's school, a collection of stalls and carnival style games set up for the local community. He had pulled his cap down and mingled amongst the crowd. Snapping a picture had been easy, it was always easy, so many people were doing the same. He remembers her turning with a smile on her face and for a brief moment he had truly thought that she was smiling at him; he had taken one step forward when he realised that it was directed behind him. Her husband had brushed past him, his jacket even skimming the sleeve of his as he passed. The husband had wrapped his arm around her as she'd kissed him in greeting, her smile widening. Ray had continued to watch from afar, taken more photos, but that one picture had caught the start of that beatific smile, the one he'd thought was for him. "Everyone takes photos," he answers after a pause.

"Most of the time the people in them know they're being taken."

Ray doesn't look up, studying Elizabeth's face. "She was the one who sent the sign to me. She wanted me to get in touch with her. I wrote to her, but she ignored me." He feels the anger build and his hand curls, his fingers pinching at her face, creasing the photo.

"What sign?"

"She sent agents to me, to question me about her." His lips twist, bitterness seeping into his tone, sharpening it. "She was always like that, always playing games. I knew that was her sign, that she wanted to see me again."

"You were questioned regarding harassment and threats made towards Secretary McCord's family. I don't think I'd call that a sign that she wanted to become pen-pals."

Ray shakes his head. "You just don't understand her. That's what she was like. She would pretend to be proper, pretend that she didn't want me, but it was all a test."

"So, you wrote to her after this?"

"Yes."

"Where did you address them to?"

"At first I sent them to the state office. But she didn't reply, so I sent the last two to her home."

"When did you send those?"

"I sent the last one about two weeks ago." He tilts his head, his eyes meeting those of the Agent across from him "I tried to be conciliatory in the first, after all there was a chance that she hadn't gotten the ones I sent to her office, but she just kept ignoring me." His teeth gritted. "She always did that. So, in the last one, I warned her."

The Agent leans forward. "Warned her?" he echoes.

His lawyer butts in again. "Mr Merchant, I will remind you again that you don't need to answer any question put to you. In fact, I would strongly advice a private conversation between us."

"You are of course more than welcome to that option," comes the second Agent's reply. "But we do appreciate your current co-operation."

Ray gives a conciliatory smile. "Yeah. I'm co-operating. Nothing to hide." He looks down at another photo, it was taken in the same park he'd found her in today. She'd been with her husband that time, not like today. He pulls it towards him, picking it up between his thumb and fore finger. She had her arm around the husband, smiling at him, she was always smiling at him. All he had wanted was for her to smile at him like that, just once; instead she made him jump through hoops. Well he was done with it. "I warned her, in the last letter. Told her I wouldn't be played with, not again. Said I was more than happy to speak to her, but that this was her last chance." His smile shuttered. "She still decided to play her silly little game."

"Then what happened?"

"I was angry. She tore my life apart and I got everything sorted out just for her to come back to do it again." The photo is crumpled in his hand. his grip tight, unyeilding.

"Did you go out and buy the gun?"

"No, I'd had it a while."

"It's not registered to you."

Ray ignores that point. "I wasn't always going to shoot her," he tells them. "That would have been unreasonable. I took it with me because it would make her listen. If I had it and I had the chance, then I could make her listen."

"So, what changed?"

"I'd been waiting for three days for the opportunity. Don't get me wrong I expected to wait, so I wasn't annoyed at that, not really. I pulled it out so I could get her to listen to me. But the way she looked at me, as if she'd never seen me before, as if she didn't know who I was!" He drops the crumpled photo from his grip, his eyes hard and cold as he stares at her face again. "She kept trying to hurt me. I just returned the favour."


	8. Chapter 8

FBI Director, Kevin Doherty frowns as he stares through the pane of one-way glass that looks into the interrogation room that Ray Merchant is currently sitting in. His fingertips tap slowly, almost methodically, against the table next to him as his mind runs through everything that they know. "It doesn't make sense," he mutters under his breath. "Bring up that video again," he requests. The agent beside him nods and presses play. "Zoom in." Kevin instructs him.

"That's as far as it will go, video quality isn't great. It's typical cell phone footage."

"Right." Kevin nods his understanding as he leans forward, peering at the footage. "He has the gun out as he approaches her. At this angle you can just make it out in his right hand. She has her back to him, doesn't see him approaching her. Then look," he pointed, finger pressing briefly against the screen. "Merchant looks as though he says something to her, that's what gets her attention. She turns, and 1…2...he fires. He only gives her two seconds to react before he shoots."

"He admits to having the gun out as an attempt to intimidate, but he's saying it was her reaction to him that made him fire it."

"Two seconds isn't long for her to react." He gives a sigh of irritation. "She's turned away from the camera when he fires. We can't see her expression and we can't tell if she speaks to him. Has anyone else handed in, or released, any other footage of the incident?"

"No Sir, this was it, but we can put out a request for information."

"Do it." He chews on the inside of his cheek. His stomach churning uncomfortably as he plays over Merchant's words. "What's this about letters sent to the McCord's home address? Did the secret service report any of this in their initial statement about potential current threats?"

"No, there was no mention of it."

"Get back onto them. I want more information. Pull the file on our initial investigation into Merchant. I want to know why we discounted him as a threat, because that's not going to play well when it comes out. He looks back into the room and bites out a curse. "Fuck, I have to go and meet the President to update him and so far all I've got is a litany of more questions and potential failings from us and the secret service."

"We have a confession."

Kevin snorts, "Considering we caught him in the act, that's not exactly a breakthrough in the case."

"Will we charge him?"

"Not yet, not while he's talking to us. Tell them to get as much useful information out of him as possible. When he clams up, and he will, then charge him with attempted murder."

"Yes, Sir."

Kevin storms from the room, the door slamming heavily in his wake.

* * *

"There's a full four pages in here filled with horizontal stripes," Stevie moans, flicking through the dog-eared magazine in disgust. "Even I know that horizontal stripes are unflattering."

"Actually, that's not true," Alison cuts in eagerly. "It's a myth, horizontal stripes are actually more universally flattering than vertical ones. There was a study done on it and it-"

"There was a study done on stripy clothing?" Jason cuts in, his words slightly muffled by the sandwich he is chewing.

"Yeah. Dr Thompson, who's a psychologist and an expert in visual perception looked at two hundred women-"

Jason interrupts again. "Why do you sound like this is a normal thing to study?"

"Why wouldn't it be?"

"Because it's mental." Jason shakes his head, his eyebrows raised. "You've definitely made this up."

"I haven't." Alison scowls across at her brother. "In fact, if I had my phone then I'd show you."

"I can settle this," Stevie informs her younger siblings, digging into the pocket of her long-discarded jacket, to pull out her mobile. She frowns as she looked at the screen, a look of horror growing on her face. "Shit," she hisses.

"Dad, Stevie swore," Jason announces automatically.

"Not the time, Jase," Henry warns his son. "Stevie, what's wrong?"

"Jareth." She looks up at her Dad, managing to look both panic stricken and guilt ridden at the same time. "I've got all these missed calls from him. I forgot to tell him about Mom, I was so caught up…" Stevie jumps to her feet, and tapping at her phone, rushes from the room, mumbling to herself.

Alison pulls a face as she goes back to looking at her magazine, muttering, "Well that's going to go down like a bucket of cold sick."

Jason snorts. "Yeah, pretty big thing to forget you haven't told the guy you're marrying."

Henry levels a hard stare at his younger children. "When she comes back in, I don't want to hear a word from either of you about this."

"Fine," Alison rolls her eyes, "but you have to admit, it's weird. We've been here for like, almost three hours now."

"Ali…" Henry's tone has taken on a harder edge.

"Fine." She reaches out and grabs a packet of crisps. "My lips are sealed."

"Same," Jason tells his Dad. He turns his attention to his Uncle. "These sandwiches are immense."

Will gives a smile. "I'll let your aunt know, although it's fairly simple."

"Yeah, maybe, but I mean Mom can mess up a ham sandwich-" Jason breaks off abruptly and looks up guiltily. "I didn't mean-"

"It's ok." Henry smiles across at his son. "Your Mom is a terrible cook, she knows it as well, you're allowed to make a joke, Jase."

"Doesn't feel right though, laughing when she's…"

"There's nothing wrong with laughter," Will tells him. "When I was in the field we found the most ridiculous things funny, because sometimes you just need to let of steam." He kicks out his feet, stretching out his legs. "On that note, I think maybe I should go out and grab a proper coffee after all. Hot chocolate for you two?" He asks his niece and nephew.

"Only if it has whipped cream and marshmallows," Jason replies, managing a smile.

"Same," Alison tells him. "And get chocolate powder on mine."

Will gets to his feet, asking Blake, "Do you mind giving me a hand? We're probably the only two that can get to the shop without attracting any attention."

"Of course." Blake scrambles up, grabbing his coat.

"Coffee for you, Henry?"

"Sounds good."

"I'll get you a double shot. You probably need it." Will pulls on his jacket. "What should I get Stevie?"

"Nothing with caffeine in it," Alison tells him firmly. "She'll be bad enough when she comes back in, so definitely get her a hot chocolate as well."

Henry looks towards the door with a small frown and gets up. "I might come out with you, see how Stevie is." He looks at Alison and Jason. "I'll just be out in the corridor, if you need anything."

"We'll be fine," Jason tells him, reaching out for another sandwich.

"Yeah, Dad. You don't need to worry." Alison grins as she concludes, "I'll keep him in line."

* * *

"So, based on the information we've gathered so far, we've concluded that this was an isolated, targeted attack on Secretary McCord and not part of a larger campaign. I've spoken to the head of the secret service and they concur with that, so security protocols will decrease to there standard level," Director Doherty informs President Conrad Dalton.

"And the shooter, we have an identity?"

"We do. An ex-student of Secretary McCord's by the name of Ray Merchant."

"Why did he target her now?" Russell asks. "Was there any history between them when he was a student?"

Kevin nods. "She made a complaint regarding his behaviour towards her, there were allegations of harassment. Initially she swapped him to a different advisor, but he persisted, so she lodged an official complaint. He was given a warning but instead he chose to leave the university."

"Did the harassment continue?" Conrad asks.

"No, however there were further allegations of sexual harassment and inappropriate behaviour made against him from a number of women in every place he worked in." Kevin gives a frown. "None reported violent behaviour, but that is an avenue that may be worth looking into further. Merchant then became even more of a hermit, started up a blog where he was fairly critical of Elizabeth's policies after she became Secretary of State, but nothing that could be construed as threatening."

"So, what changed? What made him grab a gun and go after her in Lincoln Park?" Conrad presses.

"We don't have an entirely clear picture just yet. What we know is that given his history he was flagged as a person of interest and investigated when the harassment of the McCord family started. At that time he wasn't found to be a threat and so he was discarded as potential suspect."

Russell interrupts with a derisive snort. "Not a threat. Clearly Elizabeth believed he had the potential to be one if she was handing his name over in that context."

Kevin pulls a face. "It wasn't the Secretary who flagged him. According to the files it was Dr McCord who brought him to our attention. Secretary McCord believed that Merchant wouldn't have carried out anything after being quiet for so long."

"Unfortunately, she was wrong about that," Conrad remarks.

"Not exactly. Our initial intel and conversations with Merchant suggest that his interest in the Secretary was renewed after our enquiry. He began to follow her, we have photos, none of which pre-date our investigation. The tone of his blog also appears to have shifted around that time, became much more agreeable towards her policies. He thinks that her having him looked into was some sort of message, designed to get his interest."

"Doesn't he sound delightful." Russell scowled. "Is he even going to be cleared as mentally competent to stand trial for this?"

"It's too early to tell. We have arranged for an assessment."

"How did he manage to follow her?" Conrad cut in.

"He blended in. There's nothing to make him stand out in the crowd, he played on that." Kevin adjusts his cuff-links nervously before he admits, "There's something else, Sir?"

"What's that?"

"Merchant claims that he sent the Secretary letters. Initially he sent these to her office, and given the time frame we're working with, we think these are probably still awaiting security screening and we're looking into where they are. However, he states the last two were sent to her home address."

"Did the Service flag them?"

"No, the initial letter arrived. They checked it and the contents were unremarkable, fawning; asking her to reply. It was written off as an over-zealous fan-"

"One who knew her home address," Conrad states. bluntly.

"With respect, Sir, there's more than one member of the public who manages to get hold of the home address of a public official, that in itself isn't concerning. It's the second letter that's causing some…problems. Merchant says it was a warning, but so far, we haven't been able to track it."

Conrad frowns. "This was a man who had been investigated by the FBI as a potential threat, even if he was cleared, surely, given his previous behaviour, he was listed with the secret service and he should have been flagged when the first letter to Bess' home was received."

"He should have been," Kevin admits. "I spoke to the head of service on the drive across here. It appears that there was a breakdown in communication, once our first investigation into Merchant was concluded his name should have been passed onto the service, in case he attempted to make contact. I'm personally looking into what happened, but it looks as though a failure on our end meant that they were never given his name."

Russell gives a humourless laugh. "Well, hasn't this been an utter cock up."

"Russell," Conrad growls warningly.

"Well what else would you call it?" He shakes his head. "And who exactly is going to be the one to break it to Henry McCord that not only was it him asking us to look into this guy that set him back onto the trail of stalking his wife, but also that the systems put in place to protect her, failed miserably."

"I'll speak to him personally," Kevin tells them. "It's understandable why he wanted Merchant investigated."

"He might not see it that way," Russell remarks.

Conrad's mouth twitches with irritation. "Have we charged him?"

"Not yet, he's co-operating, still talking to us. I'd like to keep it that way, I think when we charge him, he'll clam up."

"Fine." Conrad glances over at Russell. "Let's try and keep his identity out of the media until he's been charged."

Russell raises an eyebrow. "I'll try, but I can't promise anything."

Conrad nods curtly. "Kevin, I would strongly suggest that you go and speak to Henry McCord sooner rather than later. I'd prefer that we don't risk him seeing this on the news, after all, we all know how the media can get ahead of us."

* * *

Henry finds his eldest daughter at the end of the corridor, twirling her phone around in her hand as she stares out of the window. "Did you get hold of Jareth?" he asks her.

She turns, trying and failing to smile, her eyes watering instead. "Yeah, I did."

"Aw, Stevie." Henry pulls her into a hug. "What happened?"

"What always happens just now with us, it turned into an argument. At first it was going ok, I could tell he was annoyed but that he felt he couldn't say anything, and then he offered to come to the hospital. I told him that I didn't think that was a good idea."

"Why did you tell him that?" Henry asks curiously.

Stevie takes a step back and wraps her arms around herself. "The flights are expensive and by the time he gets here then everything could be ok. Mum would be out of surgery…I said that to him." She sniffs. "He said that he hoped she would be fine, but if she wasn't then he wanted to be here for me. That the money doesn't matter. I maybe took it the wrong way. It turned into him saying that I clearly didn't want him here, that I didn't even care enough to make sure that I told him myself." She looks up at her Dad. "He hung up on me in the end."

Henry winces. "Not the most mature way to end an argument."

"No, but then he has a point. I didn't think about Jareth, if it hadn't been for checking my phone…" She shakes her head. "That's not normal. He's my fiancé, I should want him to be here. Mom is always the first person that you go with anything, isn't she?"

"She is," Henry confirms, he couldn't deny that.

Stevie gives a small smile. "I mean you two ended up in court because you tell each other everything."

"That doesn't mean we haven't had our own problems."

"But communication isn't one of them."

"Stevie, communication is something that every couple has to work on at some point. It's not easy, but it's worth it."

"I thought when I first met Jareth that we had that side of things sorted, we were always so in sync, it was all so easy. Now, now talking seems to take all of our effort and we still seem to clash." She gives a soft sigh. "And beside that, Dad I forgot to tell him, didn't even think about him. Even now, I feel like I don't want him here, like I don't want all the drama having Jareth here will bring with it. I don't want to end up arguing with him and that's what would happen, and I can't deal with that right now." Stevie holds her hands up, shaking her head.

Henry looks at her "You know, it's ok to change your mind about what your future with Jareth looks like. Marriage isn't easy, so when you go into it, you need to be sure. Marriage can be the most amazing experience but if it's not with the right person then you're both going to be pretty damn miserable."

Stevie folds her arms back across herself, hunching miserably as she looks down at the floor. "I can't think about this right now, I really can't."

"Ok." He wraps an arm around her. "Come on, your Uncle Will is going out to get hot chocolate, I think that, and some more dog-eared, old gossip magazines is just what you need right now."

Stevie manages to smile. "Which is just as well because that's all that's on offer."

* * *

"Ok, bullet is out and intact." Charles Reynold examines his surgical field. "Looks as though we've found all the damage. Let's try coming off bypass."

He lets the perfusionist and anaesthetist take over, holding his breath as the machine slowly whirs to a stop. The next three seconds feel like a lifetime before Elizabeth's heart flutters back into life, it's rhythm slow but steady. He lets out a noise of relief. "Good. No signs of any bleeds. How's her pressure?"

"Eighty-five systolic and rising."

"Promising. Ok, can we arrange to close then and can someone page and ask for a neuro consult to meet us at the scan. How's her pupils?"

"Equal and reactive."

"A good start."

"Do you want me to close and you can speak to the family?" his registrar asks.

"No, not this time. I'd like to see this through to the end. I'd also like the scan results before I speak to her husband, confirm if there's any damage to her spinal cord and check if there's any obvious damage from the arrest."


	9. Chapter 9

Kevin paces the small room nervously, rehearsing his speech once more in his head. He lets out a small huff, this day has been an absolute shit-show and it isn't about to get any better. He can't say that he's looking forward to this conversation with Henry McCord, he doubted the man was going to be in a forgiving mood when he heard what had happened, and for once it actually felt worse than waiting to speak to the President. He glances up at the painting of soft focused blurred colours that graces the hospital wall as he waits for the secret service to bring the man through. As much as he doesn't want to have this conversation it had to be done and he'd decided it would be best not to have it in front of the McCord children, asking instead for a private room. He was just glad that Dr McCord agreed to his request.

The door creaks open and a strained Henry McCord enters the room, he manages a polite, if slightly forced smile of greeting as he extends his hand, "Director Doherty, I take it you have news?"

Kevin shakes Henry's hand and gestures to him that he should sit down. "I do," he confirms. He follows Henry's lead and drops down into the low padded seat across from him. "You'll be glad to know that we've made an arrest and have a confession, we're also confident that this was an isolated targeted attack against the Secretary and her alone, so your family isn't at any further risk."

Henry's jaw tenses, his voice low, gravelly, as he asks. "Who is he? Who is the bastard?"

"Ray Merchant."

The name hangs in the air for a moment. "That son of a bitch," Henry finally breathes out, his cheeks flushing with anger. "I knew it." He jumps back onto to his feet. "I damn well knew he was a threat to her. I said it! I said it and the FBI, your agency, told me that he was harmless." His finger jabs accusingly at Kevin. "Harmless! My wife's fighting for her life because of a man that you deemed harmless!"

Kevin pulls his top lip briefly in between his teeth, steeling himself for just how much worse this conversation was about to become. "I admit that the agency has made errors in its handling of Ray Merchant as a potential threat." He hears Henry scoff disdainfully as he shakes his head and Kevin has to force himself to continue, telling him firmly, "But the initial assessment of Merchant was correct."

"How the hell can you sit there, while my wife fights for her life, and tell me that?" Henry asked, a dangerous edge creeping into his voice now.

"There were no indicators in Merchant's behaviour at the time of the initial investigation that would have flagged him as a dangerous individual or an immediate threat. Yes, his blog mentioned the Secretary, using a less than respectful tone, but there was no underlying threat detected. The threat arose following that investigation-"

"What do you mean following it? If he was a threat after then he was a threat before," Henry interrupted.

Kevin looks pained. "Merchant took the investigation as a sign that the Secretary's interest in him had been renewed. At his home we discovered photographs which show he had been following her, his blogs about her changed to being positive, fawning even. He claims to have sent her letters, which we are in the process of tracking down. The thing is, is that so far none of what we've found pre-dates the initial investigation. Unfortunately, although you were correct in identifying him as a potential threat, it appears to have also been his trigger."

Henry looks as though someone has slapped him; he swallows heavily as he sways momentarily on his feet. "That was his trigger? My asking him to be investigated?"

"That's how the evidence points just now, yes. He seems to have taken it as a sign that she wanted to contact him, so when he made attempts to do so and she ignored him, he stepped up his campaign, culminating in him approaching her today; he saw an opportunity and he took it."

"Right." Henry drops back into his seat, cradling his head in his hands as he draws in some deep, ragged breaths.

"Are you ok Dr McCord, do you need me to get someone?"

He shakes his head, "No."

Kevin watches him warily, giving him a moment before he adds. "The thing is Dr McCord; you need to know that the bureau dropped the ball on this one." There was no point in sugar coating it, he knew the truth would out.

Henry's eyes are slightly teary as he looks up and asked, "What do you mean? I thought you said the investigation's assessment was right."

"It was, but given that he was flagged by yourself and given his history with the Secretary, his name should have been passed to her security service as a person of note."

"What difference would that have made? If there was no warning, if you don't have the letters-"

"We have one letter so far. The first couple he sent to the state department, given the long screening process we reckon that those ones are still in one of the mail rooms. But he also sent two to your home address. The first one he sent to your home is the one letter we have, and while it isn't threatening, his name, combined with the content should have triggered the service to take another look at him."

"So why didn't it?"

"We're still looking into how it happened, but so far it looks as though the service was never given his name by the FBI following the investigation, so there was nothing to trigger. From what Merchant's told us, the second letter contained an obvious threat, it should have arrived at your home days ago; but it didn't."

Henry look almost haunted as he looks up and meet Kevin's steady gaze. "So, what you're telling me is that I set this lunatic's interest back onto my wife and then every form of her security failed in protecting her from him."

Kevin finally looks away, aware that Henry has gotten to his feet again and moved to the window. He clears his throat, and stares at the floor for a second before forcing himself to look over at him. "There's nothing I can say-"

Henry interrupts him with a sharp, "No, there isn't." He looks out of the window onto the car park below, as he adds sharply, "I assume that he's been charged."

"He will be, he's being co-operative at present, but when that stops my agents have been told to charge him, following that we'll have to release his name." Kevin looks sombre. "I have to warn you that it's likely that in the next few days the background of this will become public knowledge."

"I assume you mean both your mistakes along with the fact that I laid the bait for him."

"Both will come out, yes, but I mean more the allegations of harassment that the Secretary levelled against him."

Henry's gaze is still on the people milling around four floors below where he's standing. "Why does that matter?"

"In this day and age, with the current movement and those determined to minimise it and flip it back onto the victim, we can't be sure what angle the media will take."

Henry doesn't even glance back at him as he replies, "In the grand scheme of things, it's not my biggest concern. They can play whatever angle they want; the facts speak for themselves. He harassed my wife, she tried to dissuade him and when that didn't work, she reported him. I would think that the fact she's the one in a hospital bed after he drew a gun on her will confirm just who the real victim is."

"The press office is concerned that the media will make allegations that there was an affair."

Henry's hand slams loudly against the wall, his fist clenched. "I don't want to discuss this," he says tightly. "Now is there anything else?"

"No. If there's any further developments, then I'll make sure you're updated."

"Fine."

Kevin waits for a moment, but when Henry continues to stare silently out of the window, he finally turned away and left the room. It hadn't gone well, but it could have been worse, he reasoned.

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

Henry hears the door fall shut and he lets his head fall forward against the cold windowpane. His tears come suddenly and quickly, his breath coming in harsh, ragged heaves, this was his fault, he had set this chain of events in motion. He was the one who had insisted Merchant be questioned, Elizabeth had wanted it left it the past and he hadn't listened to her, confident that he had known best. Then he'd compounded it by leaving her alone in that park today, where Merchant had been sitting waiting for his opportunity. Henry presses his thumb and fore finger into the corner of his eyes, trying to calm himself. How the hell was he ever going to be able to look at his kids knowing that this was all his damned fault.

* * *

Charles watches as the images from the CT scan slowly appear on the screen in front of him, the machine whirring and clicking behind the safety glass. "Spine looks clear," he announcs with more than a little relief.

"I concur, no sign of any swelling, no transection at any point," Dr William Callaghan, the hospital's top neurologist concurs. He leans forward as he adds, "Now let's get to the main event, can we move to the head?"

"Sure." The radiologist pressed a button next to her and spoke into the scanner itself, informing the anaesthetist standing guard over Elizabeth's airway and ventilator, "commencing head CT." When she receives a nod of acknowledgement, she hits another button and the machine buzzes into action again.

"How long was she down for?" William asks.

"Five minutes."

"Hmmm." William pulls his glasses out of the top pocket of his white coat and pushes them on with one hand, peering at the new images as they appear on screen. "I can't see any obvious damage; brain looks healthy and intact."

"Good."

"How long ago was the arrest?"

"About five, maybe six hours ago now." When William pulls a face, Charles has to resist the urge to shake him and asks. "What is it?"

"I mean this is a good start, but unfortunately hypoxic brain injury is a tricky beast, the damage isn't always evident at first. The brain is damage,d but the death of the cells doesn't always show fully on the scans for a few days; sometimes even weeks."

"So, what next?"

"Well, what's your plan for extubation?"

"Barring any complications then we'll keep her intubated and ventilated overnight, let her rest and then wean her off the sedation tomorrow, hopefully have her off the vent a few hours later."

"Any significant damage should be evident fairly quickly in that case, although if there is damage then dependant on where it is, weaning her from the ventilator could be difficult." He gives a shrug. "Look, I wish I could give you a straight answer on this, but all I can say is it looks as good as it can just now. If she regains consciousness and you have concerns, or there's no improvement in her conscious level following the withdrawal of her sedation then I'm happy for you to call for another consult." He glances at the watch pinned to his top pocket. "In the meantime, I have a post-surgical ward round to continue, so if you'll excuse me."

Charles nods, his shoulders drooping slightly. He had wanted to be able to give her family certainty when he spoke to them, but it looked as though that wasn't going to be an option.

* * *

Susan Pullman picks up the pile of mail from the floor and shifts into the side, against the wall to let her husband Peter slide past with their suitcases. "Just shove them in the spare room," she tells him, "I'll go through them later and get the washing sorted."

He gives a grunt as reply, he dropping them by the stairs, and stretching his back. "Should just leave them there, washing machine's downstairs, saves me lugging them up there," he grumbles.

"I'm going to ignore you because I know what you're like when you're tired," she tuts.

"I'm not tired, I'm pissed off. Twelve damn hours that flight was delayed and then trying to get past that stupid police baracade-"

"Peter, our next-door neighbour was shot. I know you're annoyed they wouldn't let us through, but in the circumstances it is understandable."

He grumbles again. "She wasn't shot anywhere near here!"

"Yes, but who knows why they did it. They need to make sure that they haven't targeted anywhere else." Susan flicks through the letter and pauses. "Looks like the postman got our 3 mixed up with their 5 again." She blinks at the envelope and frowns. "Although no wonder, that is some shoddy handwriting."

Peter mutters irritably, "Well I don't think she'll be in any rush to read it now anyway. Shove it to the side and we can take it round when things have settled in a few days."

"We can't exactly hold onto the Secretary of State's mail," she tsks. "I'll run it across, and you can take those suitcases upstairs on your way to bed, I'll be with you in a couple of minutes." She leans forward and pecks his cheek. "Now on you go, get yourself some sleep and cheer up."


	10. Chapter 10

Henry rubs away his tears with the back of his hand as the door opens, and he looks up to see Will standing in the doorway. He clears his throat awkwardly at the sign of Henry's puffy face and red rimmed eyes, closing the door behind him as he steps into the room. "You've been away for a while, the kids are getting worried, I thought I should come out to check how things were going, and the agent outside says the guy from the FBI left over twenty minutes ago." Will sits down across from him, leaning forward, his hands rubbing nervously at his knees as he stated, "Wasn't good news then I take it."

Swallowing heavily against the lump in his throat, Henry's voice is hoarse as he replies, "Bit of a mixed bag, just trying to figure out how to tell the kids."

"Well I'm not an expert on talking to teenagers, but I'm happy to help you work it out if you want to run it past me."

Henry looks past him and towards the door. "If the kids are already worried then maybe I should get back, wing it."

"I bumped into a couple of agents who have brought in their phones, I'm sure that will distract them long enough for us to talk." Will leans across the table and pushes the box of tissues in Henry's direction. "You look like you could use these."

Henry grabs one, twisting it between his fingers, a few flecks coming free and floating towards the floor. "Thanks. They came to tell me the name of the guy who shot Elizabeth."

Will's shoulders stiffen slightly. "Who was it?"

Henry's head drops, his gaze falling away from Will's as he tells him, "Guy called Ray Merchant, he was one of Elizabeth's students at Virginia, she was his academic adviser until-" He stops abruptly, his fingers now slowly, unthinkingly, shredding the tissue as he steadies himself, taking a deep breath before he is able to continue, "until he started harassing her."

Will inhales sharply. "She's never mentioned it."

"No, I'm not surprised. When she first spoke to me about it, she felt sorry for him. I didn't. He was always turning up to classes he wasn't signed up for, emailing her at odd hours and turning up at her office. I went to meet her after class one day, and he was in there." His forehead creases as he casts his mind back "I don't remember what he was saying to her, but I remember the look on her face, the way she held herself and I could see that he'd managed to block her behind her desk. She looked so relieved when she saw me there." Henry looks back up into Will's face. "He wasn't so happy to see me there of course. There was this flash of rage in his eyes and I saw the way he tensed his jaw and clenched his fists; I didn't like it. I wanted her to report him, she felt he was just a confused kid and she didn't want to ruin his life, so she swapped his adviser instead."

"But that wasn't the end of it," Will guesses.

"No. He continued to wait at the end of her classes, kept going to her for advice when he should have gone to his new adviser. Once or twice he'd waited for her at her car. She kept ignoring him, but then the emails changed from just being about his work, he started inviting her to talks, asking her to meet him for lunch. In the end we argued about it, but she agreed that it was escalating and so she reported him and he was given a warning."

"How'd he take it?"

"He was upset, stormed off and dropped out. The Dean told me later that he kicked a chair across the room when he was told about her complaint." Henry looked up and met Will's eyes. "the last conversation he had with her, he said that if she didn't speak to him then he would hurt her and then hurt himself, but after she made the complaint he didn't even try to contact her again, he just-" Henry shrugs. "Disappeared."

"So, what changed between then and now?"

Henry takes a deep breath, his eyes watering again ."When the harassment against us as a family started, we were asked if thought there was anyone in our pasts who could potentially have reason to carry it out."

"And you both named him," Will guesses.

"No, just me. Elizabeth didn't think that he would do something like that, she said that he wasn't a threat anymore, that he hadn't been for a while and that I needed to let it go. I didn't. I couldn't." His head falls into his hands, his fists curling to press against his forehead. "I was convinced that I'd seen something in his eyes, something dangerous and I wasn't going to just let it go."

Will reaches out and pats his leg. "And you were right, he might not have been behind that harassment, but he was clearly a threat to her."

Henry looks tormented as he looked up again, his voice is a pained whisper. "But he wasn't."

Looking confused, Will asks, "I don't follow. Of course he was, he might not have been behind the harassment on that occasion, but he shot her for Christ sake!"

"They looked into Merchant, and they deemed him not to be a threat."

"So, the FBI, secret service; whoever looked into him got it wrong. I know the kids will be upset that this might have been prevented but-"

"Will, they didn't get it wrong," Henry interrupts, "I did. Merchant _had_ dropped his obsession with Elizabeth, until I insisted that they talk to him. He thought it was her, thought that it was a sign that she wanted to see him again. He's been following her since then, writing her letters, slipping through the damned net, getting more and more irate, thinking that she was ignoring him." Henry looks pained as he asks, "How the hell do I tell my kids that I set this lunatic onto their mother? And then not only did I restart his obsession with her, I left her standing in that park; I gave him the opportunity he needed to approach her."

"He might have approached her anyway."

"No." Henry shakes his head vehemently. "Merchant was a bully, I could see it in him, that cowardice. He waited until she was completely alone, and I gave him that chance."

"She was separated from her security-"

"By a fluke and if I'd turned up, like I was supposed to, then I would have been on that side of the park with her" His eyes darken. "And Merchant wouldn't have gotten near her."

"But eventually he would have built up to something else," Will reminds him. "He wouldn't have just let it go."

Henry continues as though Will hasn't spoken, "I caused this, and I need to try and find a way to tell the kids that." He looks up at Will and tells him, "You should be angry with me as well."

"Well I'm not, and even if I was considering it, you're angry enough with yourself for the both of us. Henry, I can't fix this for you, I can't take the guilt and the anger away, but I'm not going to help you torture yourself. You saw a threat in him, and you acted to protect Elizabeth, to protect your family."

"I got it wrong, if I'd just listened to her and left it in the past-"

"Ok, so Elizabeth was right on this one," Will admits, interrupting him. "But your reasoning, your motives, were sound and you need to remind yourself that when you made that call you made it because you wanted to keep her safe. The kids will understand that. He wouldn't have just gone away if you'd made it to the park today."

Henry looks away, he doesn't have the energy to argue, it is all taken up in the heavy ball of dread that sits low in his stomach. A few more days or a week and those letters would have flagged with the service. No matter what Will says, he has set this chain of events in motion. And no matter what, he can't shake the image of Merchant that day in Elizabeth's office, looming over his wife, or the image of her covered in blood, lying in that hospital bed. He jerks as Will's hand claps against his shoulder, surprised to see that he is now standing, and he belated realises that he's been speaking all this time.

Will beckons his brother in law with his hand. "Come on, the kids are waiting on you. I'll be right with there with you."

His head and heart heavy, Henry gets to his feet, forcing himself to leave the room.

* * *

Alison eyes her brother and sister nervously, checking that they are both busy. Stevie is still half flicking through a magazine and half checking her phone, occasionally typing something out and then deleting it, shaking her head as she does so. Jason meanwhile is engrossed in his phone. She turns her attention back to her own phone screen and hesitates for a moment before she types. Her thumb quickly turned down the volume at the side of her phone as she clicks on the video link.

She knows it's odd but she has to see the video, the compulsion has gnawed at her and hasn't left her all day. She wants to know what had happened to her Mom, she has to understand how this could have happened in such a public place.

The video itself is slightly hazy at first before it moved into sharper focus. She can make out her Mom standing, watching a group of runners as they go past. Alison can see a man approaching her, and she bit down on the inside of her cheek, steeling herself. Something made her Mom turn and then - Alison tries not to jump in her seat. She hadn't even seen the gun. Just her Mom giving an odd jerk before she staggered and then fell backwards onto the grass. The video blurred again, but she could still see her Mom lying on the grass; alone other than the shooter, kneeling next to her head.

She chews on her nail as she quickly comes out of the video and opens something innocuous instead, letting it play as her mind wanders. She shouldn't have watched it she tells herself; it hasn't helped any. Her stomach twists in knots as her brain replays that moment over and over again.

* * *

Susan stands awkwardly by the wrought iron railing at her front steps peering across at the swarm of agents who are milling around next door's front steps. They all look much more forbidding than usual and she feels uncomfortable about just calling out to get their attention. She sees one spot her and he moves swiftly in her direction, asking, "Can I help you Ma'am?"

Gripping the letter slightly tighter in her grip, Susan gives a nervous nod as she holds it out. "Yes, look I know this might seem trivial today, but this letter was mixed in with ours, I just wanted to hand it over."

Agent Raynis takes the proffered note and glances down at the smudged handwritten envelope, his heart beating ever so slightly quicker at the sight of it. This was exactly what they have been told to look out for and it has just been handed to him. "Did this just arrive today?" He asks.

"I don't know. We've been away on holiday for two weeks, we've only just gotten back, it was in the pile that was waiting for us behind the door."

"Was it the only one?"

"Yes, the three looks like a five, so I think the mailman got confused." Susan glances over his shoulder and saw that some of the agents were beginning to disperse into cars. "Is everything ok?"

"Fine Ma'am, the area has been secured now. Normal security levels will be resuming."

"Oh, that's good I guess." She looks back at him. "How is Elizabeth? Although I suppose I should call her the Secretary of State just now."

"We know the same as everyone else Ma'am, she's in theatre."

"Right. Well," Susan wraps her arms around herself, suddenly feeling rather chilled "I'm a bit jet lagged so I might just get back inside and put my head down."

"Sleep well, Ma'am." Agent Raynis gestures down at the letter and adds, "And thank you once again for bringing this so swiftly to our attention."

He watches her return to her home, letting the door slam shut before he reaches for his radio, calling for the Agent in charge of the scene.

* * *

Jason has never seen his Dad look so awful, his jaw is tense, the tendons in his neck are straining slightly against his skin as his hands shake from nerves and his voice is dry and hoarse. "Who wanted to speak to you, Dad?" he asks nervously. "Was it the doctors?"

Stevie blinks back tears as she adds, "Did they have news about Mom?"

"No, it was the director from the FBI. He had some news about the man that hurt your Mom."

"Did he tell you why he did it?" Jason asks.

"Was it political?" Stevie adds. "Did Mom push a policy he didn't agree with?"

"Yeah, I mean that would make some sense I suppose," Jason muses out loud. "Although honestly I don't think her policies are that bad."

"I'm going to tell her you said that next time you go on about the corruption of the current government," Stevie reminds him, a teasing smile on her face.

"I said they weren't that bad, I didn't say they were good-"

"Oh my God! Shut up!" Alison snaps at her siblings. "Dad what did they say?"

Henry rubs at his forehead. "The man who did this, your Mom knew him; he was a student of hers."

Alison looks confused. "But Mom hasn't been teaching for over two years, why would he hurt her now?"

"Yeah, that's a long time to hold a grudge over a bad grade," Jason comments, slightly irritated that his Dad hasn't called Alison out on for screeching at him.

"Don't be glib," his Uncle Will warns him.

Henry shoots his brother in law a grateful look before continuing, telling his children, "It wasn't about grades. He had an obsession with your Mom that started when she was his academic adviser. When she made an official complaint, he dropped out."

Alison can't help but replay that image of the man approaching her Mom. "But why now? You and Mom have never mentioned him before, if he was obsessed then surely we would have heard something from him?"

"A few months ago, I put his name forward to be considered as someone who might have carried out the security attacks on us as a family," Henry admits. "And they questioned him. He thought it was your Mom and he took it as a sign she wanted him to get back in touch."

"Did Mom want him questioned?" Alison asks, perplexed by her Dad's choice of words.

"Of course she would," Stevie cuts in quickly. "She wouldn't put up with that kind of behaviour."

"She didn't think it was him," Henry tells them, his voice thick with emotion. "She didn't want him looked into, I did."

Any reply any of the room's occupants might be about to make is cut off by a knock at the door and Pete looks into the room. "Dr McCord, the surgeon is here to speak to you, would you like a private room?"

"Dad, you promised we could hear everything," Alison reminds him, a hard edge evident in her tone. He looks at Stevie and Jason and saw that they too were looking at him desperately.

"We've all waited long enough," Henry replies after a brief moment of hesitation. "We can talk in here."

"Yes, Sir." Pete steps out of the way, pushing the door wider as he did so, letting an older man in scrubs into the room, accompanied by a nurse.

He holdd out his hand to Henry. "I'm Dr Charles Reynolds I operated on the Secretary today."

"Elizabeth," Henry corrects him automatically as he shakes his hand. "And is she ok?"

"She's out of surgery and stable, we've carried out a CT scan and we can confirm that there was no damage to Elizabeth's spinal cord from the bullet," Charles reassures them.

"Oh thank God," Henry breathes out, aware of the relief that emanates off everyone else in the room.

Charles' smile doesn't quite reach his eyes. "It was a very difficult procedure, Elizabeth lost a lot of blood-"

"But you said she was stable," Jason interrupts.

Henry turns to his son. "Jase, I know it's tough but I need you to let the Doctor talk, we can't interrupt him."

Charles waits a moment before speaking again. "Elizabeth lost a lot of blood before we were able to start the operation and unfortunately, she suffered from a cardiac arrest on the operating table. We were able to resuscitate her, but due to the level of damage not as quickly as we would have hoped. Elizabeth's brain would have went without oxygen for the duration of this-"

"How long?" Will cuts in.

"Approximately five minutes."

"What does that mean?" Henry asks desperately. "You said she was stable."

"She is, but there is a risk that the time she went without oxygen may have caused some brain damage. When we took her to CT we also carried out a scan of her brain and the initial results of that are promising but not conclusive."

Henry feels as though his brain was swimming in molasses. "I don't understand, it sounds as though the scan didn't show any damage."

Will's hand lands on his shoulder. "Henry, sometimes the damage doesn't show right away. It can take the cells time to die and that can't always be seen until later."

"That's correct," Charles admits. "We won't know if there has been damage or how extensive it is until Elizabeth regains consciousness."

"And how long will that be?"

"We're going to keep her ventilated and sedated overnight to let her rest after the surgery, we don't want to overwork her lungs. Our hope is that tomorrow we'll be able to withdraw the sedation and take her off the machines. She'll be sleepy to begin with, but we hope to carry out further assessment then. However, Dr McCord I have to be honest with you, there is a small risk that dependant on the placement and severity of any damage that Elizabeth may not regain consciousness."

Henry shakes his head. "No, she came through the surgery, she'll wake up," he tells him hoarsely.

"That's our hope." Dr Reynolds looks between the shell-shocked family. "I'm happy to answer any questions you might have." There is a beat of silence and he realises that no one is able to think of anything to say to him, and so he concludes, "The nursing staff are making Elizabeth comfortable and once they have her settled then you can see her."

Realising that his brother in law has slowly sunk back into his seat, a look of shock and bewilderment on his face, it was Will who steps in. "Thank you Dr Reynolds. If we think of anything we want to ask then we'll run it past the ITU staff."

"Of course." Charles gives Henry a worried glance before he leaves the room.

The family sit in stunned silence for a moment, before Alison asks, "Why was Mom alone at the park?"

Stevie looks at her sister in disbelief. "Does that really matter right now."

"If it didn't then I wouldn't ask." She looks wildly across at her Dad, stepping forward. "Mom never goes there by herself, that's your spot, you always go together. So why was Mom alone?"

Henry meets her gaze, his expression guilt ridden. "I lost track of time, I phoned her just before to tell her I wasn't going to be able to make it."

"It's your fault," Alison tells him, her voice quiet at first, before growing in volume and anger as she shouts it, "It's your fault!"

"Alison, stop!" Stevie tells her, shocked at her outburst.

"No! It is! You heard him! This guy went after Mom because he sent the FBI after him, on a wild goose chase! If you hadn't done that, he wouldn't have been looking for her! And then you left her alone!" Alison is sobbing now, rubbing at her face with her sleeve. "You left her alone! She shouldn't have been by herself!"

Henry stands, reaching out to his daughter. "Ali, I know and I'm so sorry if I could change anything-"

"Don't touch me!" Alison dodges his grasp, stepping out of his reach. "Mom might not wake up and it's your fault!" She levels her finger accusingly at him. "It's your fault and I hate you!" she shrieks, before running from the room.

Henry sways on his feet. "She doesn't mean it," he hears Stevie reassure him. "I'll go and speak to her."

"Stevie, I'll go," Will tells her. "You stay with your Dad."

Blake clears his throat awkwardly. "I'll um...go and get more coffee, or juice, or…something."

Henry watches as Will and Blake leave the room, but all he can do is stand there and think that his middle daughter has gotten it right. It is his fault.


	11. Chapter 11

Stevie chews her bottom lip nervously as she watches her Dad sink slowly back into his seat, cradling his head in his hands. She exchanges a worried glance with Jason. Their parents have always protected them, have very rarely shown that they were upset by something, and if they did they always countered it with a reassuring smile and some comforting words. Even when their Mom had been caught up in the explosion in Tamerlane, her Dad for the most part had held it together and hadn't shown just how worried he'd been until the news that she was safe had reached them and he'd cried tears of relief. So now, to see him so upset that he can't hold it in and to see him so on edge is unnerving. "Dad, Ali wouldn't have meant what she said. She's just upset."

"Yeah," Jason agrees. "You know what she's like, she's always been over the top."

Stevie resists the urge to roll her eyes at her brother's words, whilst Alison's words had been cruel and ill thought out, their Mom is seriously ill, so she couldn't exactly say that her reaction was over the top. She sits down next to her Dad and turns into him, resting her head against his shoulder. "We don't blame you, and Alison doesn't either, not really."

Jason hangs awkwardly at the side, unsure just how he should deal with this until Stevie looks up at him, glaring at him and nodding her head to the other side of their Dad. He takes the hint and rushes to the seat, raising his hand to awkwardly pat his Dad's shoulder. "Stevie's right, and you know I hate to say that; but we really don't blame you."

Henry wipes an eye with the edge of his sleeve as he lifts his head. "I just wanted to keep you and your Mom safe."

"We know and so does Alison, she'll calm down Dad." Stevie gives an irate sigh, giving her head a shake of disbelief. "She shouldn't have said that to you."

Pulling himself upright, Henry wraps his arms around his two children and pulls them in close to him. He has to pull it together just now, for them. He kisses the top of Stevie's head. "Don't be annoyed at your sister. I let your Mom down today and I know it. Alison is allowed to be angry and upset about it."

"She doesn't need to be a bitch about it though," Jason mutters.

"Jason! What did I just say?" Henry asks, exasperated by his son.

"Dad, we're all angry and upset," Jason argues, "but she can't just go around screaming at folk."

"We all deal with things in different ways. Alison can't hide her feelings."

"She could at least try," Jason grumbles.

"Not just now she shouldn't." Henry looks between his kids. "Look, we can't pretend that this hasn't happened, and we all need to deal with our feelings. I don't want any of you hiding how you feel, even if that means that you're angry with me. I don't know what's ahead of us, you heard the Doctor, there aren't any guarantees."

"I know," Stevie tells him. "But Mom would want us to stick together, just like she and Will did." She stares meaningfully at Jason as she adds, "And that's what we'll do and when Alison comes back we'll sort this all out. Don't worry Dad."

Henry holds his children that little bit tighter at Stevie's words. "I'm proud of you, of all three of you," he tells them, feeling even Jason relaxing into his hug. He swallows against the lump in his throat. He can't be angry at Alison, after all she was only saying what he was thinking, what he couldn't stop himself from repeating over and over in his own head. For a moment he had felt pure relief at the doctor's words, at the thought that Elizabeth had come through this, that he could hold her again and tell her how sorry he was. Then had came the body blow. He could barely bring himself to think of it, of his brilliant, quick witted, effervescent wife being left brain damaged, or never waking up. How would any of the three of his children, really be able to look at Elizabeth and not hate him for what he'd done to her? He could feel the tears building behind his eyes again and he presses a kiss to their hair in turn, making the most of having them close to him.

* * *

Will doesn't need to go far to find Alison, she is near the coffee machines in the atrium, curled up in the corner of a group of seats, her knees pulled up to her chest, her forehead on her knees. The Agent lingering only a few feet away from her is also, admittedly, quite the giveaway to her position. As Will gets closer, he can hear her crying and sniffing. He sits down next to her, sees her head turn ever so slightly, checking who it was, before she turns her face back into her knees. "I suppose you've come to tell me off?" she mumbles.

"Nope, just came to check you were alright," he replies.

Alison turns her face back towards her Uncle. "You're not angry with me?"

"Why would I be angry with you?"

"Because of what I said to my Dad."

"Ah." Will gives her a considered look. "What do you think about you said?"

Rolling her eyes, Alison rests her chin on her knees, giving a loud sniff. "You're trying to guilt me into feeling bad about it. Well I don't," she declares firmly. "It _is_ his fault."

Will leans back in his chair. "You know when your grandparents died, there was a few times that I blamed your Mom."

Alison looks surprised at the sudden confession. "You did? Why?"

"Because I thought that maybe if she'd come with us, then we'd have had to wait on her, that we would have the left the house a few minutes later and not gotten into the accident." Will stares off into the middle distance, his face falling into a frown as he forces himself to go back to a time and place that usually he does his upmost to forget. "Or that maybe if she'd been there, then she might have been able to save our Mom, she was older, and she was so smart; I thought that maybe she'd have been able to do something. I wasn't able to do anything, I just had to watch her die."

Alison gives another sniff, her voice small and quiet as she replies, "I thought Gran died right away."

"That's what I told everyone, including your Mom, in fact I only told her the truth last year."

"Why'd you hide it from her?"

"I'd like to say that I was trying to protect her, but really I was worried that she'd be angry at me, that she'd blame me for not saving our Mom. I know now that I couldn't have saved her, that there was nothing I could have done in those few minutes; not even now, with years of medical training, that would have changed the outcome." He meets Alison's gaze. "And all having your Mom there would have done is put her in danger and I might have lost her as well. I would have been left all alone."

"So, you think that if Dad had been there, he would have been hurt as well?"

"I don't know," he admits. "But maybe."

Alison gives a tut of annoyance. "Or maybe that guy wouldn't have come anywhere near my Mom." She glares at her Uncle. "My Dad was the one who poked the bear, and then he couldn't even be bothered to turn up for her."

"Time got away from him; it happens," Will shrugs.

"He left her standing there all alone," Alison continues as though he hasn't spoken. "He left her there and that man was able to just walk right up to her. And then she was just lying there, all alone. She must have been so scared.

A frown flickers momentarily across Will's face. "You sound like you know a lot more about it than I do."

Alison looks at him guiltily, pulling her knees in even closer to herself as she admits quietly. "I watched the video. The one that was put up on the internet."

"Yeah, I guessed as much." Will looks at her in confusion. "What I don't get is why."

"I suppose that I wanted to know what had happened. Wanted to know how it could happen. Mom is meant to be one of the most protected people in this country and yet someone shot her!" She looks at him almost wildly, her voice going up an octave. "I couldn't understand how it could happen." She shakes her head. "I still don't," she admits. "But that guy, he waited, he waited until she was alone. Uncle Will, he could have pulled his gun and shot her from further away, from across the path, but he didn't. He waited until she was alone so that he could get close to her, and she was alone because of Dad. I can't understand why you aren't angry with him."

"Because he wasn't the one with the gun."

"Euch, that's such a redundant argument."

"Is it?" Will arches an eyebrow. "Why?"

Alison throws her hands upwards in frustration. "Just because you don't fire the bullet, doesn't absolve you of any responsibility. If Dad hadn't mentioned that guy's name to the FBI then he wouldn't have went looking for Mom, he said it himself. You _should_ be angry with him."

"Your Dad made the call he thought was the right one at the time. We have hindsight, we know what that decision led to now, and at some point, we'll know every little thing along the way that went wrong today and led your Mom to that moment; because it wasn't just your Dad, I promise you that. Alison, all we can ever do is look at the facts and make a calm, rational decision based on them."

"Do you think my Dad thought it through? When he handed over that name."

"I think he thought it through as much as he could at the time."

"So, no." Alison scowls at her Uncle. "He wasn't calm, and he wasn't rational. He put Mom in danger." Her eyes fill with tears again. "Mom might not wake up, she might be brain damaged. I don't even know what that might mean," Alison admits quietly, her eyes fixing on the opposite wall as her fingernails pluck at her tights.

"It could mean a lot of things," Will tells her. "She might have some problems with her memory, or her speech. She might not be able to move as well as she did before, or she might have some personality changes. It just depends."

"Can she get better?"

"Again, it depends on what the damage is and where. There's some really good rehabilitation programmes out there now."

"But she might not be like my Mom."

"Maybe not," Will admits.

"Then why aren't you angry?"

"It would be easy for me to be angry with your Dad, but I learned, not that long ago, that holding onto that anger just makes everything harder. I know it might look to you like I'm too calm and you might think that that means I don't care enough, but I promise you that I do." Will's fists curled inward on themselves as he speaks. "For so many years your Mom was all I had. She came to my college graduation, she travelled miles for it and insisted on taking me out for a fancy meal, because that's what you did. Even though she and your Dad were ridiculously poor at the time, she made sure that we celebrated that day in style. She always turned up; she was always there, even when I tried to push her away. To think that that person might not be there anymore, it hurts; I know that, believe me I feel it. But anger isn't going to help. Alison, your Dad is angry at himself, and he is going to have to live with the consequences of this for the rest of his life. Even if your Mom comes through, he will always feel responsible, so what good does me losing my temper do anyone? It just causes more hurt and there's more than enough of that right now."

Alison gives a soft sigh. "I suppose it doesn't help, not really." She tucks a strand of her hair behind her ear. "I know that my Dad loves Mom, you'd have to be blind not to see that; I know that he didn't want her to get hurt. But how do I stop being angry at him?"

"Well…you've let it out, that's part of it. So now you go, and you hear his side of it."

"What if his side of it makes me feel worse?"

"Then you give him a hug and you think about what your Mom would want, because what she'd want is you standing together as a family. I can promise you that and eventually that anger you feel towards him, it will go away."

"You promise?"

"Yes. You love your Dad. You might still feel angry, but you can channel that into something else, something productive. Now are you ready to go back?"

Alison wipes at her eyes again. "Not yet."

"Ok, so how about a chocolate bar and a can of juice out the vending machine?"

Giving her Uncle a smile, she nods, "Yeah, but we can't be long. I don't want to miss them telling us we can see my Mom."

* * *

Kevin tuts as he reads the contents of the letter that has just been handed to him. "If only we'd gotten this this morning."

"Yeah, ironically the neighbour's flight was delayed. Twelve hours."

"Fuck sake," Kevin hisses angrily. "This has been a comedy of errors, except no-one's laughing." He glares at the letter again. "It's one hell of a change of tone from the first letter. Three pages of rambling hate, spewed out onto paper" He runs his finger down the first page, reading aloud from it, "You constantly ignore me, ignore all my attempts to contact you and instead you strut around, knowing the hold you have on me and relishing it. I won't stand for this Elizabeth."

"Guy's a real charmer."

"I'm going to give you one last warning; you need to talk to me, or I will lose my temper and you will regret how you've treated me. I let you make a fool of me and walked away once before. I won't this time, this time I will make you pay, I'll make you suffer and make wish that you'd never laid eyes on me. I'm done playing games."

"That sounds like pre-meditation, Sir."

"Most definitely." He sighs and leans back in his chair. "And that's not even the worst of what's in here. Is he still talking?"

"Singing like a canary. Told us how he got hold of the gun, how often he followed her. Guy's lawyer looks as though he wants the ground to swallow him whole."

"I bet he does. Any sign of the letters he sent to the State Department?"

"Based on the dates we think we might have the very first one he sent. Admin worker found it about a half an hour ago, handed it over when his name flagged up on the alert we put out. It's on its way across to us just now."

"Good." Kevin runs a hand through his hair. "I'm going to walk down to interrogation. Think it's about time that we charged this Bastard."


	12. Chapter 12

Alison feels as though her heart has taken up resident in her mouth as she and Will approach the relative's room, her pace slowing as they draw closer. She feels her Uncle's hand press lightly on her shoulder. "What's wrong?"

"I'm nervous. What if he's angry with me?"

"He won't be," Will replies simply. "He's too angry with himself. He'll just be glad to see you."

"Stevie and Jason will be angry though."

"They'll get over it but believe me if you leave it then it'll just feel worse later."

"Ok." Alison nods. "I'm ready," she tells him, although if she is honest with herself, she knows that she's nowhere near feeling the confidence she's trying to portray.

"Let's go then." With that Will pushes open the door to the waiting room, his hand stays on Alison's shoulder, a silent sign of support.

Henry stands the moment he sees them, stepping forward, his arms lifting slightly as he moves to hug her. Unthinkingly, Alison takes a step back, on seeing this her Dad's arms drop, and he stands awkwardly, a flicker of disappointment crossing his face before he manages to catch himself. "Ali, I'm so glad to see you."

Alison nods, tucking a strand of hair behind her ear, her gaze fixing somewhere near to his left ear, unable to meet his gaze. "Dad, I'm sorry about what I said."

"Oh Noodle, you don't have to be. It was my fault and I'm so sorry."

Glancing at the look of desperation in her Dad's tired, crumpled face, Alison remembers her conversation with Will and takes in a deep breath. Her anger hasn't completely gone, but maybe her Uncle is right, maybe she just needs to focus it elsewhere. "I shouldn't have said it was your fault, that wasn't fair of me." She tells him, her eyes beginning to tear, her voice cracking slightly as she admits, "I was just really upset about Mom." She brings her eyes up and meets his, "I really am sorry, Dad."

As she breaks down in tears, Henry's feet unstick themselves from the linoleum and he propels himself forward, gathering his youngest daughter into a hug. "Don't be sorry," he tells her again. "I don't want you to hide how you feel and I understand why you're angry with me."

"I know, but what I said was just mean." It is as though the floodgates had opened and the words rush and tumble uncontrollably out of her. "I was upset about Mom, and I had just watched that stupid video and it was all I could see. Just him...that man-" She shakes her head, stuttering slightly before she continues, "And I was so angry that he had hurt her and then what the Doctor said about Mom just made it worse…" Her tears fall quicker now, her breath coming in harsh, loud sobs. "It was easier to blame you because I can't shout at him. I can't do anything!"

"I know Noodle. Henry tightens his hug, kissing the side of her hair. "But why would you watch that video?" He asks, perplexed. Out of all his children, he would have guessed Jason would have been the one to find it, to watch it and find a way to tie it into one of his government conspiracy theories; he would never have thought it would be Alison.

"I don't even know anymore, I just wanted to know what had happened, I wanted to understand why and how someone could do that to her!" She gives a sniff as she adds woodenly, "it didn't help."

"No, I don't imagine it would." He steps ever so slightly back and looks down at her. "I promised you that I would be honest with you and I will be, no matter how difficult I might find it. If there's something you want to know, that any of you want to know, then you just need to ask."

"Ok." Alison glances up and over at her siblings.

She sees Stevie give a small shake of her head. "Oh Ali, when are you going to learn not to check the internet for every little thing," she says despairingly, but she crosses the room anyway, giving her younger sister a hug.

Jason hangs back before his Dad gives him an encouraging nod. He rolls his eyes before finally telling Alison, "I suppose I owe you one for putting up with my outburst earlier." He lets his Dad pull him into what is now a group hug.

"Thanks guys," Alison tells them all, a relieved smile crossing her face.

There is a knock at the door and the family pull apart, as a nurse steps into the room. She gives them all a warm, reassuring smile. "I'm ward sister, Nurse Lane. It's just to let you know that we've settled Elizabeth into a private room and we're happy for you to go in and sit with her. While normally our limit for visitors is two, we can let you go in three at a time initially."

"But we've been waiting for ages," Jason protests.

"Jason, don't interrupt," Henry cuts in firmly. "This is a hospital, there's rules."

"I understand it's frustrating," she replies smoothly to Jason, "but there's a lot of machines and tubes and your Mom needs a nurse with her at all times, so we have to limit how many people are in a room so that there's enough room for us to be care for her. We also have a lot of other very unwell patients and we can't have large numbers around every bed, we have to be fair."

"We understand that," Henry tells her. "We'll split into groups."

"Good. Once you're ready, just press the buzzer into the ward and our clerkess will let you in." With that she steps back out of the room.

Henry looks at his three kids. "Ok, so two of you can come in with me and one of you with your Uncle Will and Blake."

Blake looks up and gave a shake of his head. "I appreciate the thought, but I don't think that she'd want me to see her like that. I just wanted to know that she was ok and the others will want to know how she is." He get to his feet, looking slightly awkward. "Also, it means that you can stay in with Dr McCord and she'd definitely want that."

"Are you sure?" Henry asks.

"Absolutely." If he was honest, he isn't sure he was ready to see the Secretary, not like that, and not with her future so uncertain. " And I've been away so long that I'm surprised Nadine hasn't sent one of the junior staffers in to drag me out by my hair," he quips weakly.

Henry gives a nod. "Well you're welcome anytime you're ready."

"Thank you."

Stevie gives him a quick hug. "Don't know why you're thanking us, you're the one that went for the hot chocolate," she teases.

"Anytime. If you need anything, anything at then all, just let me know. I get the feeling I'll be in the office pretty late." He gives them all a small smile before he slips from the room.

Henry looks at Alison and asks her, "Do you want to come in with me Noodle?"

Alison shakes her head. "I'd rather go in with Uncle Will, if that's ok?" She doesn't want to hurt her Dad again but she feels that her Uncle understood her feelings more right now, and she worries that when she saw her Mom, that she'll feel that irrational anger towards her Dad again; that she'll lash out at him, and she doesn't want that.

Swallowing against the lump in his throat, Henry manages a small, comforting smile, "Of course it's ok." He looks across at Stevie and Jason and asks them, "You two ready?"

"Ready as we'll ever be," Stevie tells him, as she gives Jason's shoulder a reassuring squeeze.

* * *

"Tell us one last time what happened today at the Park, Ray?"

Ray sighs. "I went to speak to her, I just wanted to talk, but she was dismissive of me."

"Did she say anything to you?"

"She did." He tips his chair slightly on its legs and his left hand momentarily flexes. "She told me I shouldn't have come to the park, that I should have waited until she got in touch with me. I didn't want to be dismissed by her again, it had happened before; wasn't letting it happen again."

The last letter, encased in a plastic slip, was pushed across the table to Ray as he is asked, "Want to tell us a bit more about this?"

Ray's eyes scan it briefly and he gives a casual shrug. "What is there to tell? I sent it, I warned her and when she didn't listen, I followed through." He gives a humourless smile. "I'm a man of my word."

"We haven't located all of your letters yet, but we have this one, and the first letter you sent to Secretary McCord's home. There's quite the change in tone in just those two letters."

"I got tired of fawning to her, of paying lip service. She started this." Ray presses his finger into desk as if to emphasise his point.

"You said, but how do you know that?"

A brief frown flickers across Ray's features before his face settles back into an impassive mask. "The FBI agents, they questioned me about her. They wouldn't have done that unless she had asked them to. Anyway," he waves a dismissive hand, "That's her MO, she flashes that disarming smile just so she can lead you astray, play with you."

"Ray, it wasn't Secretary McCord who asked us to investigate you. It was her husband."

He chuckles. "No, it wasn't. I'm sure she'd want you to think that. When she asked you to look into me, I'm sure she smiled and simpered that it was her husband who was so worried about her." He almost spits the last words at them, unable to contain his anger, letting it briefly bubble over.

Neither Agent flinches, one of them instead tells him bluntly, "She didn't want you spoken to at all. Dr McCord requested that you were questioned in line with an investigation of harassment against the family. You know what the Secretary said? She said that you weren't a threat, that you had been a confused, mixed up kid and she thought that you should be left alone."

Ray blinks a few times, giving some small shakes of his head, for a brief second his confidence, his narrative shaken. "No, no. She wanted to send me a message…" He collects himself and suddenly smiles confidently as he says, "You're lying. If she hadn't wanted me to contact her then she would have reported the letters to you, you would have picked me up long before now."

"And I'm sure if she'd received any of your letters, she would have reported them. C'mon Ray, you think that the Secretary's mail isn't scanned and checked before it goes to her? She didn't see anything you wrote to her. After some searching we've found the very first letter you sent to her office, it was still waiting to be checked. We think that the other three are somewhere in the bowels of the State Department, mouldering in some pile."

"But you clearly have the ones I sent to her home."

"Yeah, we do." He taps the first letter. "This was the first letter to even reach us, and it was written off as an overzealous fan letter, and we didn't bother to pass it onto the Secretary. Whereas this one, this one didn't even reach us." He shows him the envelope, pointing out, "Your penmanship needs some work, mailman delivered it to a neighbour. Because believe me if we had seen this then you'd have been thrown in a cell so fast your head would've spun, but unfortunately we didn't get this until after your trip to the park today."

"That can't be true, you're lying."

"No, but you definitely are. You told us that you went there to talk to her, that you only took the gun to make her listen to you. Your story is that she tried to send you away, but you know what Ray? That doesn't fit with any of the evidence."

"Evidence that you're making up," he insists, his eyes started to blaze, his façade cracking again.

"We haven't made any of it up, but you have. Secretary McCord didn't ask the FBI to look into you, her husband did. She also didn't see any of the letters you sent her, so she didn't have a clue that you were following her or that you were trying to make contact. You told us, more than once, that she spoke to you, that that's what made you fire the gun. But this letter tells us otherwise. It tells us that you went there planning to hurt her, that's why you had the gun, and you've admitted this wasn't the first day you carried your gun with you." He clicks the video player at the side on, his finger tapping the screen. "You didn't give her time to say anything to you. She turns and you give her two seconds, and you know what you do in those two seconds Ray? You raise your gun. You can see it clear as day. She didn't dismiss you, in fact your first story made a bit more more sense, that she looked at you like she didn't know you. Because you didn't give her the chance to recognise you and she sure as hell didn't expect to see you there."

Ray presses his closed fists against his forehead. "You're lying," he repeats.

"This letter shows us that you wanted to hurt her, it proves pre-meditation." He closes over his file and states firmly, "Raymond Merchant, you are being charged with the attempted murder of the Secretary of State Elizabeth McCord-"

Interrupting, Ray speaks over the charges. "Attempted? She's alive? No, I saw her, I saw the blood." His rage is incandescent, he's blinding fury as he spits out his words at the news of his failure. All this time he'd thought that he has won, has emerged from their battle triumphant and so it's a bitter blow to take.

His shouts are ignored as the Agents finish reading the multitude of charges and push themselves to their feet, ready to take him back to his cell.

* * *

Henry takes a deep breath in as the DS agent lead him, Stevie and Jason down the ward. He can see Jason walking stiffly beside him, his shoulders tense. "You ok there Bud? I know this is scary."

"Just not sure what to expect."

Flashing back to when he'd seen her lying in the emergency room, Henry tells him, "A lot of tubes, your Mom, she might not look like herself and I won't think any less of you if you decide that you can't go through with this."

Jason pulls back his shoulders, looking determined. "I want to see her."

"Ok." Henry doesn't argue with his son, can see what this means to him. They come up to a room sequestered at the bottom corner of the ward, DS Agents flank either side of the door; a nurse at a small table sitting just inside the doorway, alternating between watching the bed and scribbling on some paperwork. Henry walks in first, his breath catching at the sight of Elizabeth. The bedsheets are glaringly white, and she is so ashen that she almost matches them. The ventilator hisses behind her head, tubing sprouting out of it before finally culminating in a tube at her mouth, held in place by a thin white ribbon that is tied neatly up around one ear, and down under the other. He takes a step closer, there are blood and clear fluids on a stand, running down to a line in her neck and he can see the thick, ugly black stitches that hold it in place." His knee almost knock against a box, filled with reddish, murky liquid that is clipped onto the bed.

"Chest drain," the nurse tells him.

"Right," he murmurs. He looks at his wife's face, relieved to see that the blood had been cleaned from her. The only evidence left behind are small flecks that are ingrained around her nail beds. He exhales loudly. His wife wasn't a small woman, she was slight but she was taller than everyone thought and yet she looks tiny and fragile lying in that bed. His attention is caught by the sound of Stevie sniffling softly behind him.

"Can she hear us?" Jason asks, his eyes are wide as he looks from the bed to the nurse.

She gives a soft smile, her head tilting. "We're not sure," she admits. "She's heavily sedated so that she doesn't fight against the ventilator, and some of the medications we give to keep her comfortable have an amnesiac effect. So, we can't check, but you can talk to her, if she can hear you then I'm sure it will bring her some comfort."

Jason nods and then after a few seconds, mumbles, "I don't actually know what to say."

"That's ok, nobody does at first."

It is Stevie who steps forward, taking Elizabeth's hand into hers. Her movements are slow and awkward as she works to avoid the multitude of tubes. "Mom, it's ok we're here now." She sniffs, but she isn't quite able to stop one lone tear from running down her cheek. "And Alison's just outside with Uncle Will, so someone will be with you whenever we're allowed. Isn't that right Dad?" She looks up at Henry, her eyes wide, seeking his confirmation.

"That's right," His hand reaches out to slip Elizabeth's hand out of their daughter's and hold it in his own, bringing it up to his mouth, kissing it lightly as he tells her, ""I'm not going anywhere, I promise."


	13. Chapter 13

As the door to his office clicks opened without warning, Conrad intuitively knows who is barging in, because there is only one man with the nerve to stomp in and out whenever it pleases him. "I take it you have news?" He asks, not looking up from the paperwork in front of him.

Russell drops heavily onto the sofa in the middle of the room, pulling at his suit jacket agitatedly. "I do. Just had an update from Director Doherty."

Conrad looks up, his eyes narrowing. "And?"

"They've charged Mr Merchant with attempted murder. They've also located his last letter the second one that he sent to the McCord's home, and from what I've heard we shouldn't need to worry about proving pre-meditation."

"Good. Where was it?" Conrad sends him a warning glare as he adds, "Please don't tell me that the secret service had it all this time?"

"No, thankfully. Turns out it was delivered to the neighbour by mistake." He gives a humourless laugh. "They were on holiday, got back this afternoon. Would have been back last night had their flight not been delayed." He gives a shake of his head. "If only we'd got this just a few hours earlier then we would have had her under a strict security protocol until we'd investigated Merchant. There but for the grace," he mutters.

"Quite. One positive is that that wasn't our mistake, it's one thing the media can't pin on us."

"Oh I'm sure they'll find a way and there's more enough there to spin it." Russell drums his fingers off the upholstered arm of the sofa as he speaks.

"Just tell me that he's going to be mentally fit to stand trial."

"Director's pretty confident, he's spoken to the state attorney. They had Merchant reviewed by a medical doctor and a psychiatrist after he decided to take a nap on the interrogation room table and they declared him mentally competent. No diagnosis of any mental health illnesses in his medical history, although he was strung out on Valium when he fired the gun, hence the nap."

"Where did he get that from?"

"They found some in his pockets, apparently that particular mix has been doing the rounds on the streets. DC police have been looking into it for weeks, trying to find the source."

"I want to make it clear that I don't care if he has any information on how this drug is getting onto our streets, he's not getting a deal."

"Don't worry, I don't think that he's a dealer, the search at his flat did reveal a small stash, but it narcotics felt an amount of that size was more likely to be for personal use, most likely he just indulges."

Conrad taps his pen of his desk, his lips pursed in thought. "And the fact that he was under the influence won't affect the case?"

"Doubt it, considering that he says he took it only five or so minutes before just to steady his aim in case he got the chance to speak to her." Russell leans his head back, rolling his neck and wincing as it cracked. "We know he planned it and the timing from the tape leaked to the media gives us a visual, which proves that he didn't give her anytime to react or say anything to him. Guy's unstable, definitely, but nothing that would stop him from standing trial. That's not what we need to worry about. What we need to worry about is the optics."

Conrad raises an eyebrow. "The optics? I would think when it comes to a trial that the media will be on our side with this one. Bess has always been popular, both at home and abroad."

"She is," Russell admits. "But there's room for this to be twisted into something sleazy. He was her student after all."

"You think they'll make it look like an affair gone wrong," Conrad remarks.

"It's a possibility, we'll need to be careful with how we handle the narrative, because if I was Merchant's defence that's exactly what I'd claim." He sighs, eyeing Conrad carefully before pitching his next idea. "We could cut him off at the pass."

"Why do I get the feeling that I'm not going to like what you're about to suggest."

"Because I want us to suggest taking the death penalty off the table for a guilty plea, move for a prison sentence instead, no matter what the outcome for Bess."

"You said yourself that the evidence is conclusive, I don't think we need to beg for that plea."

"I'm not suggested begging, but I think we should consider it."

"You want to be the one to suggest it to Henry McCord?" Conrad asks him.

"Last I checked he wasn't particularly pro death penalty anyway."

"Something that might change given current circumstances." Conrad links his fingers together, angling them towards Russell. "Particularly if Bess doesn't pull through."

"I understand this, but it would stop a lot of unwanted scrutiny into the family. They have enough stress, they don't need this on top," Russell tells him, his voice genuine as his face creases in concern.

Conrad sits back in his chair as he thinks the idea through. "Float it to him," he finally replies. "But for the record, I don't think it will go down well."

"Yeah, well that's my cross to bear." Russell rubs tiredly at his eyes. "While we're on subjects that could get me balled out of this room, I also think we should get out in front of this balls up by the FBI."

"By doing what?"

"Being open and honest about it."

Raising an eyebrow in surprise, Conrad remarks, "I'm beginning to wonder if you're feeling alright. Shouldn't you be finding a way to spin this?"

"There is no spinning this. There has to be an enquiry into how Merchant's name didn't reach the secret service and we're not going to be able to hide that from the media. Even if we can persuade Merchant to take a plea deal, the facts about his threatening Elizabeth are going to be out there. Christ sake her agents intercepted one letter from him and did nothing about it, if we don't put that into context then we risk making the service look weak and that's the last thing we need; to look as though we have ineffective personal security!" He lets out a deep, annoyed breath after his rant. "Sir, the FBI needs to take the flack, they can absorb it and to be perfectly honest I don't think the secret service can, not after today. He didn't make that shot from a distance, he walked right up to her in a public park, and if we add any on more incompetency then-" He throws up his hands in exasperation. "We may as well start planning for a new service right now, because they won't have any public standing."

Giving a thoughtful sigh, Conrad drums his finger against his desk. "You think admitting that the FBI made a mistake is the best way to go?"

"I hate to say it, but yes."

"Ok then, put together a press conference."

"Of course. I was thinking about using Elizabeth's staff rather than ours, adds more of a personal touch. We bring Doherty on-board, announce the arrest and he slides in about the enquiry."

"Think you can get him on board?"

"If he knows what's good for him, he'll agree," Russell grumbles.

"Well I'll leave you to that one."

"I'll get onto it."

Conrad is surprised to see that Russell doesn't leap immediately to his feet and rush from the room in a whirl of energy, instead he clears his throat and if anything, looks even more uncomfortable. "Why do I get the feeling you have something else to drop on me?"

"Because I do. It wasn't just the FBI who updated me."

"The hospital?"

He gives a nod. "Yeah. I got permission from Henry for them to give me any updates once they'd spoken to him and they made contact a few minutes ago. Elizabeth is out of surgery."

"Well that's good news, surely."

Russell gives a slow, uncertain nod "Partially, she's stable, but there were complications."

"What kind of complications?"

"Elizabeth's heart stopped before surgery, it took some time to get her back. There could be some damage from that."

"What exactly do you mean by damage?"

"Brain damage," Russel clarifies. "She's going to be kept sedated and ventilated overnight, so soonest we'll have any indication of potential recovery will be tomorrow."

"Hell," Conrad sighs softly, slumping back in his chair. He can't picture Bess in any other way than what she is just now, clever, stubborn and competent.

"Yeah, it's not the news that any of us were hoping for." Russell glances over at the President. "She could still make a full recovery."

"Let's hope."

He waves a hand across himself. "Look at me, I shouldn't have had good odds and yet here I am."

"That's true. Although I'd appreciate it if my staff could stop having near death experiences, this election year was stressful enough," Conrad jokes weakly.

"It's been one hell of a ride. We've created history, but not always in the way we might have hoped."

"I'd hoped that she had at least another history making moment in her." He gives a sad smile. "You know the hopes I had."

"I do," Russell admits. He sighs again, rubbing at the side of his face. "Hopefully it won't come to that. Quite liked the fact that there was a happy, stable family in the political arena for a change." He glances guiltily across at Conrad, "Eh, no offence Sir."

"None taken. Considering the headaches that Harrison has given you, I can hardly complain." He looks thoughtful for a moment. "Bess can come through this though, she's strong."

"Let's hope." Russell finally gets to his feet. "Well I better get across to the State Department and start knocking heads. If we get a move on, we get can get this out for the late night news, break whatever fiction the papers had planned for the morning." He moves towards the door, turning and asking, "Want me to ask them to send you in anything? Coffee? Scotch?"

Conrad looks surprised at the offer. "No," he replies after a moment. "I promised Lydia I'd go up for some dinner, think today gave her a bit of a fright."

With one last nod, Russell sweeps from the room, the door clunking shut behind him.

* * *

Stevie fiddles with her engagement ring, twisting it around her finger, sliding it up over her knuckle and back down again. "Mom, I kind of need you to wake up, want a bit of advice," she tells Elizabeth's still form. She glances up at Henry and gives him a small smile, before looking back at her Mom's face, scouring it for any sign of recognition. "I spoke to Dad but I think this is definitely one for you." Her smile fades slightly when there is no reaction, and she sighs, "I wish I knew if she could hear me."

Henry reaches across from the other side of the bed and pats his daughter's arm. "I know." He looks to the bottom of the room where Jason has hung awkwardly back against the wall for the last ten minutes. "You want to come up here, Bud?"

He shakes his head. "No, I'm ok." His throat bobs as he swallows nervously and looks down at his feet again, scuffing his shoes against the floor.

Getting to his feet and pulling himself awkwardly out of the hard, plastic chair, Henry walks over to his son, placing his hands on his arms. "You don't need to be in here if you don't want to be. No-one will think any less if you if you need to leave the room."

Jason looks away from his Dad's face. "Mom would want me here," he mumbles.

"Only if you were comfortable, that's what would be most important to her right now." He glances back over at Stevie and adds, "Look we should probably let your sister and Uncle in for a while anyway, so that will give you both a bit of a break."

"Yeah, they'll be worried," Stevie agrees gathering her cardigan from behind her and rolling it in her arms.

"I'm going to stay here for as long as I'm allowed, overnight if possible," Henry tells them. "But we won't all be able to. Maybe talk to your sister and Will and plan what you want to do, I'd really like it if you went home and got some rest. There's nothing to be gained by you all waiting here overnight."

Stevie glances worriedly at her Mom. "But I promised her that I'd make sure she wasn't alone."

"I know and she won't be. Even if they turf me out, she'll have a nurse here all the time." He looks to the nurse seated at the patient table in the room. "That's right isn't it?"

She gives the family a reassuring smile. "Absolutely, she'll have one to one care. When I finish in an hour, then I'll handover to the next nurse; she won't ever be alone. And if it helps the nurse in charge has said that you can stay with her Dr McCord, the relatives room will be available you overnight, should you want to put your head down for an hour or so. The sofas aren't the most comfortable, but they're better than those," she inclines her head over to the chairs placed by the bed.

"Ok. I'll run it past Ali, but maybe we would be better to go home," Stevie admits grudgingly. "Is there anything we can bring in for her? "

"Toiletries," the nurse tells her. "We only have basic unscented stuff here. I always think it's nice for people to have what they're used to using at home."

"I'll arrange it," Stevie says, thankful for something practical to do. "Dad, if you want we can arrange to swap at some point, you can come home get a shower and a change of clothes."

Henry shakes his head. "I'm staying here until your Mom's awake."

Stevie gives an exasperated sigh, "Dad, that's not what she'd want."

"It's what she'd do if it were me in that bed. I'm staying," he tells them firmly.

"We can argue about it later," Stevie tells him. "But for just now I'll go and get Alison and Uncle Will." She leans forward and presses a kiss to her Mom's forehead. "I love you and I'll see you soon." She looks up to see that Jason was edging slowly sideways towards the room door, his gaze still fixed firmly on his feet. Walking over to him she slings her arm around his shoulder. "Come on, let's get something to drink."

She smiles as she sees her Dad silently mouth the words, "Thank you," at her.

* * *

Blake's head is heavy as the elevator makes its way up to the seventh floor, he feels thoroughly down beaten after this afternoons events and is dreading the questions he is about to face. He wonders for a moment if he should have stayed, but then he reminds himself that he wouldn't have felt comfortable sitting watching her like that. Friends might stay but he has to admit that there came a time to step back and let family have time together. They had so much to get their heads around, it wouldn't have been fair for them to do that with him perched awkwardly in a corner.

The elevator opens with a ping and he steps out, incredibly grateful to find the floor empty. It was after five, he reminds himself, a lot of people would have made their way home. He can, however hear a flurry of voices from behind the conference room at the top of the office; hoping that it is his friends, he makes his way up.

Everyone turns to look as he pulls open the door, and he could cry with relief when he sees that it is in fact Nadine, Daisy, Jay and Matt who are camped out around the large table, a selection of empty coffee cups and various food wrappers scattered across the surface.

It is Nadine who speaks first, "How is she?"

Blake drops heavily into a seat. "She's out of surgery, but they don't know whether she'll make a full recovery." He holds back the words brain damage, can't bring himself to say it, doesn't want to see their faces fall and isn't even sure if it's his place to tell them.

"Oh." Nadine gives a sad sigh. "How's her family?"

"Not great, I felt it was best to give them some space."

"That sounds like it was the best idea." Nadine pushes him over a packet of cookies. "Here you look like you could do with some sugar."

"Thanks." He takes a bite before announcing, "I feel like I've done nothing but eat sugar and mainline coffee today."

"Some days are like that," Daisy says. "I think it's best just to do whatever it takes to power through them."

"Maybe." Blake looks around at them. "So, what's been happening here?"

Daisy gives a shrug. "Trying to not to let the State department implode, which in some ways is just a normal day, but with this horrible undertone, and the depute is his usual ineffective self." She takes a sip of her coffee. "Press have been on our backs all day wanting an update and we just have to keep on repeating our first statement."

"Well you won't be for long," comes a familiar voice from the doorway. They looks up to see Russell stroll into the room.

"Russell Jackson is here," Blake announces out of force of habit. "What?" he asks when Matt shoots him a disbelieving look. "It's like a pavlovian response for me now."

"Go get yourselves a refresh of that coffee, and someone make me one as well, splash of milk, two sugars. We have a catastrophe to spin." Russell tells them, ignoring Blake's quip.

"Do we really have to spin this?" Jay asks.

"Believe me when you hear this, you're going to be on board with the spinning."

* * *

Alison wraps her arms around herself as she walks into the hospital room, slowly bringing her eyes up to her Mom and letting out a long shaky breath. Her Dad is seated by the bed, his hand gripping her Mom's like a drowning man clutching a lifeline. She feels her Uncle's hands tighten momentarily where they are resting on her shoulders and she tilts her head up to see his face pale and his mouth drawn into a tight line.

Her Dad finally looks up and smiles at her. "You want to come over here, Noodle?"

Hesitating Alison shakes her head. "I…I can't yet," she admits. Her Mom doesn't even look herself, her face is pale, her hair is mused in some areas and lying flat in others, and whilst her Mom took no interest in fashion, she had always taken pride in herself, so it is disconcerting to see her now. There are so many tubes and cables as well that she's worried that she'd knock something. She looks back at her uncle. "Will I hurt her?"

It is as if her words knock him out of his stupor, his head jerks as he draw his eyes away from the bed and he tells her, "No. I know it looks scary, but as long as you're not planning on jumping on the bed then you'll be fine."

"Ok." Alison steps forward slowly, approaching the same side of the bed as her Dad is on, figuring that if he is already sitting there then she is less likely to hit anything by accident. She hovers awkwardly by his side until her uncle drags a chair over. Sitting down, she chews the side of her nail nervously. "Can she hear me?"

"I like to think so," Will tells her. "But I can't say for sure."

Alison nods. She looks down at her Mom's hand, at where her fingertips peek out from between her Dad's grasp and frowns. Her nail beds are ingrained with dried blood, which cling to her Mom's normally immaculate nails. "Is that her blood?" she asks, even though she already knows the answer.

"It is," her Dad confirms.

Alison's back straightens, she might not be able to control much right now but she can bring back that small piece of normality. Can I get something to clean her nails with?" she asks.

"Noodle, you don't have to-"

"But I want to," Alison insists. "I can do that for her."

The nurse gets up and rummages through a metal set of drawers at the side of the room, laying a towel down on the bed before filling a small foil bowl with some warm water. She hands it to Alison along with a packet of gauze and some cotton wool balls. "Here you go."

Alison smiles up at her. "Thanks." She sets herself to work, slowly and methodically. After a moment she remarks to her Dad. "Stevie says you're going to stay here tonight."

"That's right. Did you guys decide what to do?"

"Will says we can stay with Sophie and Annie, but I think we're going to go back to the house."

"I've said to them they just need to phone Sophie if they change their minds, she'd be happy to have them," Will adds.

"And what about you?"

"I'm going to head back for an hour or so, put Annie to bed and then I'll head back in."

"I wish I had some hand cream," Alison remarks, before adding, "but I'll send some in, Stevie and I are going to put stuff together for her."

"Your Mom would like that."

The ghost of a smile touches Alison's lips and she briefly squeezes her Mom's fingers. "When you're better we're going out for a manicure, you, me and Stevie. So that means you have no choice, you need to get better."

She is so engrossed in her task that she misses the way her Dad's lips thin, pursing together as he blinks quickly, trying to rid his eyes of the tears that are forming.


	14. Chapter 14

Henry listens to the slow steady beeps of the monitors and the varying levels of whooshing that the ventilator emits, Elizabeth's chest rising and falling in rhythm to it. It is the only movement she make, her face is blank, a smooth mask that it devoid of any expression or emotion, whilst her eyelids don't so much as flicker and her fingers remain slack in his grasp. He has never seen her so still. Elizabeth was always on the move, she was a whirlwind of energy that put him to shame; even in her sleep she would wriggle about to get comfortable, her arms and legs either star-fishing out or winding themselves round the duvet as she slowly but steadily stole it for herself.

He strokes his wife's forehead as he brings her hand to his lips, pressing kiss to her knuckles as he brushes a strand of blonde hair off her face. Her skin is smooth, relaxed in repose, the laughter lines around her eyes are barely visible and her forehead is missing the creases from when her face scrunches up in thought. In fact if it wasn't for the warmth emanating from her skin, he could have easily been convinced that she was already gone; that she has slipped from this life. Henry gives a small shake of his head, he can't think like this, she _is_ here, she _is_ still with him and he needs to hold onto that.

All he wants is to be able to speak to her, to tell her that he's so incredibly sorry, but anything he can think of to say sounds trite, and so the words stick in his throat.

There is the sound of plastic scrapping against the floor and looks up to see the nurse gather her clipboard, and pen in hand make her way closer to the bed, scribbling down numbers. "Everything look ok?" Henry asks, a note of desperation sinking into his tone.

She smiles at him, giving a reassuring nod as she replies, "Everything's sitting right where it should be just now." She leans across the bed, tapping the ventilator screen to show a different page, making a note of the figures on it. "We'll do these checks every hour, means we can make sure that everything is as it should be."

"What are you're checking for?"

"Well we take a note of the ventilator settings every hour, Elizabeth's don't change but it's part of our safety checks. It also allows us to track exactly how she's doing and see how much breathing she's managing for herself."

Henry frowns. "I thought the ventilator was doing all the breathing for her."

"Right now it's doing most of it," she admits. "But we have different settings we can use to support breathing and the setting that Elizabeth is on delivers a set number of breaths per minute at a pre-set volume of air. The basic settings will ensure that she is given enough oxygen and will time itself out to make sure the breaths are given evenly. But if she takes a breath on her own then the ventilator will sense it and support it instead of delivering the controlled breath. The ventilator keeps a record of how many breaths a minute were delivered by the machine and how many Elizabeth triggered, and each hour we take a note so that we can track it."

"And if she isn't taking any breaths for herself what does that mean, long term?"

Her voice takes on a softer, comforting tone. "It might not mean anything. Elizabeth is heavily sedated, and we have a morphine infusion running which will also limit any effort she might make to breath on her own. Although, if it helps, she triggered half of the last minute's breaths by herself."

Henry lets out a breath he wasn't even aware that he'd been holding, a sigh of relief escaping him. He understands what he is being told, but it makes him feel better to know that she is trying, it helps him feel like she is still in there, still fighting. "What else do you check?"

"Well we have an arterial line in that keeps an accurate blood pressure, we check heart rate and temperature. I'm going to have a listen to her chest, make sure we can hear her lungs on both sides and I'll check the chest drain along with the syringe drivers that provide her sedation."

"It sounds like so much."

"For us, it's part of our everyday routine but we know for everyone else it can be a bit overwhelming."

"This whole day has been overwhelming," Henry admits. "This morning everything was normal, the kids were bickering, I was caught up in thinking about work. Now…now it feels like nothing could ever be normal again." His eyes flicker back up to Elizabeth's still form, his grip tightening momentarily around her hand, almost in a reflex action. "I can't even think what I should say to her just now."

"You don't have to say anything, some people don't. It's a strange situation, there aren't any rules you need to follow."

"It's just I've never not known what to say to her."

"Like I said, this is a strange situation, it's ok to be lost for words. You're here and that's the main thing."

Henry gives a nod, letting her get back to work. He might be here now, but he hadn't been there when she really needed him, and he hates himself for that.

* * *

"Good of you to join us, Kevin." Russell barely glances up from his work as the beleaguered FBI director slinks into the conference room. "Matt, pass him his part of the statement."

Matt pulls out a piece of paper from the masses that are scattered across the desk in front of him. "Whole thing isn't finished yet, but Russell's cleared your section."

"Thanks."

"Oh, don't thank me just yet," Matt mutters under his breath, quickly turning his attention back to the unfinished part of the statement, while Russell shoots him a dark glare of warning.

Kevin reads through the statement and shakes his head. Can we discuss this?" He asks Russell, and then glancing around the occupants of the room, adds, "in private?"

"I can bollock you just as well in here as I can elsewhere," Russell tells him bluntly, not even lifting his head. "And it's been a long day, so I'm not in the mood to move. That's going to be the statement, Kevin, get on board."

"Has the President cleared this?"

Russell's pen pauses mid scribble, and he finally brings his eyes up from his own work. His gaze is sharp, his eyes glinting. "The President is aware of the sentiment behind the statement."

"So, you're throwing me to the wolves then?" A thin sheen of sweat is beginning to glisten across Kevin's forehead.

"Not what I'd call it. In fact, I expect that you'll probably come out of enquiry with your job intact. I'm not so confident about your safety protocols or for a coupling of your underlings, particularly the one who failed to pass on pertinent information to the secret service."

Kevin loosens his tie, his finger hooking behind the knot, pulling at it. "So, you're blaming us? I mean we caught the guy!"

Russell gives a dry laugh. "He gave himself up at the scene, so technically the service handed him to you. Kevin, the Secretary of State was shot, someone has to take the blame. This time it's the FBI."

"And what the secret service get off scot free!" His voice rises slightly in volume, the paper crumpling in his hand as his fist clenched in frustration, and he notices that the Secretary's staff glance away from him.

"They were operating with one hand tied behind their back."

"They're the ones that let her get shot in that park; not us!"

Russell slams his hand down onto the desk, hard; the thud reverberates round the room as he gets steadily to his feet, his palms planted flat as he leans across the desk. His voice is steady, each word he spoke taking on a hard inflection. "Elizabeth McCord was shot by a man that your service deemed not to be a threat, not only was it your service that decreed that but they then failed to follow basic protocol. If the service had had that name, that first letter wouldn't have been dismissed so easily. They would have asked for his description and they might have noticed the lunatic milling around her like she was a goddam tourist attraction! Her security would have been at the very least tightened until he was re-investigated. That was your failing, not theirs."

"Our initial assessment was right, our interviews prove that. Merchant was only a threat following the first investigation."

"Doesn't matter," Russell tells him, waving his hand dismissively.

"It's a salient point. You're right, we didn't pass on the name," Kevin admits, as he rubs the back of his arm across his sweat dampened forehead. "But, I think it should be put into context. Merchant wasn't found to be a credible threat, in fact if he had never been investigated-"

"I'm going to stop you right there," Russell interrupts. "I'm not having anyone from this administration standing up and pointing the finger at the grieving, shell shocked husband."

"That's not what I was suggesting."

"Really, because it sure as hell sounds like it and believe me you don't want to go down that particular rabbit hole. Henry McCord was asked in the context of that investigation to hand over names of anyone who could be a potential suspect, Merchant had form for harassment, common sense would dictate that his name should have been put forward. It was your agency's job to ensure that protocol was followed past that point. You failed." Russell's jaw is clenched as he concludes brusquely, "Now get on board and read the damned statement."

Kevin glances back down at the crumpled sheet of paper and swallows against the lump in his throat. "Fine."

"Good." Russell checks his watch, gathering his papers into a leather binder and flipping it closed with a soft thud. "Now I have somewhere else to be, another arm to twist as they say. Daisy here will keep you on script. Press briefing is scheduled for half eight." He gives the occupants of the room a warning glance. "I know this is an emotive subject but lets keep it to the talking points." The folder is tucked neatly under his arm as he strides from the room. The heavy conference room door closing behind him with a loud thunk.

* * *

Stevie presses her nose against the black frosted car window, feeling the cold seep into her skin, causing the flesh on her arms to pimple, the fine hairs standing on end. The sky is grey and heavy and the rain falls across the city in a fine, sheeted mist as they speed through the damp streets in silence. The weather suits Stevie's mood perfectly, it is grey and flat, just like how she felt right now.

She feels as though her world had been upended, flipped on its axis and she doesn't know how she can right it. Her eyes sting and she closes them, fighting against the tears she can feel welling, she can cry later but not now. Right now, her brother and sister need her, their Dad is crumbling and so she has to be a pillar of strength for them. It didn't matter that all she wants is to curl up into a ball and sob, to have someone stroke her hair and promise her that it's all going to be ok.

One hand slips into her pocket and brushes against her mobile, her fingers curving momentarily around it. She could text Jareth, she could ask him to get on the next flight out, she could place her head across his legs and let it all come tumbling out, all her pain and fear. She draws her hand back out as she lets out a quiet sigh as she watches her breath steam up the window. That's what she wants to come from their reunion but she can't shake the horrible feeling that it wouldn't end up being like that at all.

Closing her eyes, she lets the sound of the car engine and the whoosh of it driving along the wet roads steal her from her thoughts. It works for about three seconds before that sickly feeling of panic twists in her stomach again. She needs to decide what to do about Jareth, but she can't face making that decision tonight. They might have their struggles but he was certainty and she needs that right now, as everything lies shattered and in broken pieces, she needs that one fact to hold onto, the day dream of her future family. Her lips pull tight.

"I'm going to head home for a while once you guys are dropped off," Will tells them, his voice breaking through the heavy silence. "I know you wanted to gather some stuff up for your Mom, so I thought that you could leave it out and I'll pick it up before I go back to the hospital."

"That makes sense," Stevie replies, finally turning away from the window. "How long do you think you'll be?"

"About two, maybe three hours. I'd like to put Annie to bed tonight."

Stevie nods. "Should give us plenty of time to put together a bag. Thought I'd put some stuff in there for Dad as well."

"He'd like that." Will glances around his nieces and nephew, his hand rubs at the stubble forming on his jaw. "Look, why don't you come back to mine. I don't like the idea of you being alone tonight, and Annie and Sophie would love to have you there."

Watching as her sibling's look away at their Uncle's suggestion, Stevie forces what she hoped is a reassuring smile onto her face, "We'll be fine, honest, and after all we have Sophie's number if we change our minds."

"Ok then, if you're all sure."

The Black SUV rolled to a slow stop as they drew up outside their townhouse. The door on Alison's side opens and she and then Jason clamoured out of the car. Stevie slides across the back seat to follow them, pausing when Will gently catches her arm. She looks at him questioningly. "Uncle Will?"

"Stevie, anything at all you just phone me, I'll come right over."

Stevie gives a soft smile. "You'll be with Mom, she needs you more right now."

He shakes his head. "But what she'd want is know that you guys are ok. You're the most important people in the world to her. So you promise that you'll call me."

"I promise."

His grip on her arm slackens and Stevie slips out of the car, wrapping her arms around herself. She notices that Alison and Jason have paused at the front steps, sees Alison wipe her eyes before she hurries inside, Jason following quickly after her. She sees what had caught their attention as she gets closer. Flowers and hand written notes in cellophane pockets were tied to the stairs railings, like some sort of shrine. "When did they get here?" She asks the security detail.

"Last few hours people have been dropping by. We've checked all of them. There's more been left at the State Department."

Stevie shivers in the rain, but not from the cold, as she looked at the small collection, unsure how she feels about it all. A teddy bear catches her eye, a few drops of rain starting to cling to its fur. She leans forward and picks it up, brushing some of the dampness from it. There is something sad about seeing it sit so dejectedly out here. Folding it into her arms, Stevie takes one last look at the flowers before walking into her quiet family home, the bear pressed tightly against her chest.


	15. Chapter 15

Will slides his key into the lock, pushing the door open as he turned it. The smell of spices scented the air and he can feel his stomach grumble in response. He shrugs off his jacket, his shoulders aching and emitting a small click at the effort and he gives a tired sigh. Looping it onto the overloaded coat rack, he turns to see the small face of his daughter peering round the living room door. "Dad you're home!" she shrieks delightedly.

Annie flings herself around the doorframe, rushing down the hallway, her arms outstretched and her slightly too big pyjamas billowing. Will drops to one knee and swoops her up into a hug, supporting her weight on his hip. "I am so happy to see you," he tells her. He hugged her close, pressing a kiss into her fair hair, inhaling the scent of her strawberry shampoo.

Her hands are sticky as they press against his cheeks. "You look tired," she informs him.

"I am a bit," he admits. "But not too tired to read you your bedtime story."

She tilts her chin slightly to the left, her small mouth twisting thoughtfully. "Do I get to pick which one?"

"I thought we were halfway through Charlotte's Web."

"We are, but I don't want that tonight. I want the one about the tiger."

Will has absolutely no idea what tiger book his daughter is referring to, as they are her favourite animal, she has several and so he simply nods, "I think that can be arranged."

Sophie clears her throat and Will looks up to see her in the hall, drying her hands on a dishtowel. "I've made fajitas for dinner." She leans forward and kisses his cheek. "I'll keep some warm for you," she assures him before turning back into the kitchen.

"Thanks." Will adjusts Annie's weight on his hip again. "Are you all ready for bed?"

"Yes."

"And you've brushed your teeth?"

"Yes."

"Annie Adams, don't you fib!" Sophie calls from the kitchen. "She's only just finished her toast and jam."

That explained the sticky hands that are currently gripping onto his t-shirt, as she stares guiltily at the cotton, tugging one corner of her bottom lip in-between her teeth. "Ok…so I haven't brushed my teeth," she tells him quietly.

Brushing a crumb away from her chin, Will remarks dryly, "I can see that. Now what have we said about fibbing?"

"Not to do it." She raises her brown eyes guiltily. "But I hate brushing my teeth."

"You know what you'd really hate?"

"What?"

He leans in conspiratorially, lowering his voice to a near whisper. "Having no teeth."

Annie clamps her hands over her mouth, her eyes widening. "You can't take my teeth."

Will laughs, amused for the first time in hours. "I'm not going to take your teeth, but if you don't brush them then they'll all fall out."

"Oh." Annie's hands drop, her nose wrinkling upwards as she considers his words. "It's ok," she tells him gleefully after a moment of thought. "I'll grow more teeth."

"You only get two sets. If your adult teeth fall out, then you're going to look like this." Will pulls his lips over his teeth and gapes mawkishly at her in a large grimace.

Annie giggles. "I won't look like that."

"You will." He places her down onto the floor. "Now on you go and brush them and use your timer. I'll go and get your story book."

She gives an exaggerated sigh, turning to stomp down towards the bathroom, her arms swinging as she attempts to make her irritation clear. Will watches her go and when she is out of sight, he lets himself chuckle, she is going to be an absolute nightmare as a teenager.

He makes his way into her bedroom and picks up a book with an overly cheerful cat on the front, hoping it was the right one, as he switches on her bedside lamp. Sitting down on her bed, he swings his feet up, the room is so pink that in the dull glow of the light it is like sitting in a bottle of Pepto-Bismol, which is oddly soothing. Leaning back against her pillow, he listens to the running tap water, the faint sound of her brushing and gargling, timing it out in his head to make sure she doesn't try to cheat.

Her feet make soft thudding noises on the carpet and as he hears her get closer, Will closes his eyes and tilts his head to one side, letting out some exaggerated snores. He hears Annie giggle, feels the bed dip as she jumps onto it. Her fingers are sharper than he expects and he smothers a wince as they dig into his shoulders, her shake is also more brutal than he is prepared for and he can smell the mint on her breath as she hollers at his ear, "Dad, wake up!"

Will gives an exaggerated jump and catches her in another hug, swinging her down onto the bed with one arm, as he lifts the covers with the other. Annie gives a giggle of delight at the movement and grabs her bear, which was trapped between the bed and the wall, hauling it up into a cuddle. "You both ready for this story then?" He asks. "You'll need to be quick before I fall asleep again.

Annie fiddles with bears ears as she snuggles into the duvet. "Almost."

"You need to get comfy?"

"No, wanted to ask you a question."

"You can't get a puppy," Will tells her firmly, assuming that she is going to ask the same question she's been throwing at them for the last three weeks.

"It's not about a puppy." She looks away from him, staring instead at her bear, making it move it's paws up and down. "It's about Aunt Lizzie, Mom said she isn't well."

Will thinks he can hear his heartbeat pounding in his ears at the question and his stomach twists with uncertainty. He'd known that Sophie was going to talk to her, God forbid they hadn't wanted her seeing it on the news, but he stupidly hasn't prepared himself for her questions, hoping instead that whatever Sophie has told her will do the trick. Clearly this has been wishful thinking on his part. "That's right." He lifts his arm, wrapping it around Annie and pulling her into his side, glancing down at her small face. "What else did your Mom tell you?"

"That she's in hospital so the doctors can look after her. Were you looking after her?"

"No, I was just visiting her."

"But you're the best doctor ever, you can make her better."

Will smiles sadly at his daughter. "She needs some special doctors."

Annie sighs, lifting her hand to twirl a strand of her hair around her finger as she thinks about her next words. "Mom said that she's really sick and that you might be upset. Is she sicker than the time I threw up on the rug?"

Despite the seriousness of the conversation, Will feels a bubble of inappropriate laughter catch the back of his throat. "It's a different kind of sick, but yeah, Lizzie is sicker than that."

Her head tilts back, her eyes widening. "Will she have to go to heaven?"

Will's stomach plummets, Annie's idea of death is limited to that of her hamster and Sophie's great aunt and he had hoped not to have to extend that for some time yet. His voice is hoarse as he forces himself to meet her forthright gaze, he couldn't lie to her, it could just make things worse. "I hope not, but maybe."

Annie's rosebud mouth purses, her forehead crinkling with confusion, "But Lizzie isn't _that_ old, and you go to heaven when you get old."

"Old people do go to heaven, but sometimes people get very very very sick and the doctors can't make them feel better, so they have to go to heaven as well."

"But, you can't come back from heaven."

"No, you can't."

"But then how would Stevie and Ali and Jason see their Mom? And how could Lizzie take me out on her horses, like she promised?"

"Well, they couldn't and she couldn't."

"So we'd never see her again?" Annie looks perplexed at the notion, watching her Dad carefully.

Will involuntarily tightens his hug on her. "We'd see her when we went heaven, when we get old."

"Or sick," she supplies helpfully. She reaches out and fingers the front page of the book in her Dad's hand, her thumb flicking the bottom hand corner.

"Or sick, but only very sick. Not throw up on the rug sick," Will clarifies.

Annie curls closer into him. "Are you going back to see her tonight?"

"I am."

"Then you can make her better."

Will kisses her head again. "I told you bub, she needs special doctors."

"No, she just needs you. You can fix it." She sighs and takes the book from his hand, opening it to the first page and handing it back. "Will you be back later?"

"I can come back to help you get ready for school, if you'd like that."

"Yeah. You go and make Lizzie better and then we can have pancakes for breakfast."

"Pancakes are a weekend breakfast."

"Ok…" she drawls the word out as if she were a long-suffering teenager. "Then I'll have my chocolate cereal instead."

* * *

Henry can hear the crackle of the radio, as the Agent at the door to Elizabeth's room shifts on his feet. He glances away from Elizabeth to see the man's head dip, can hear the quiet mumble as he talks back into his radio. Henry watches as he turns and leans into the room. "Dr McCord, Russell Jackson is here, he's asking to speak to you."

Looking back at his wife, Henry shakes his head, "I'm not leaving her." He's made a promise to her that she won't be alone, he is the only one here right now and he is damned if he's going to leave her.

"He says it's important."

Henry sucks in a breath; he feels a rush of anger that he forces himself to push down. His voice tight, he replies, "Not as important as my wife."

"If it helps, Elizabeth is due to be turned, so we'd ask that you wait outside for that," the nurse informs him. "We also have to change over one of the syringes, so we'll be at least ten minutes."

His grip tightens on Elizabeth's hand for a moment before he places it lightly back on the bed. "Ok. Tell him he has ten minutes." As the agent speaks back into his radio, stepping back into his post at the door. Henry stands, leaning across Elizabeth and kissing her forehead, his voice a soft whisper as he tells her, "I'll be back soon, I promise." He draws back, the sheet rustling as he does so, and he watches her face for a few seconds, waiting to see if there is any sign of a response. There isn't, the ventilator continues to whoosh, the monitors continue to beep, and his wife continues to lie motionless.

He straightens; his feet heavy as he makes for the door. Pausing for a moment, he glances at the window next to his wife's room and realises that it is getting dark, a gloom settling over the city as the rain continues to pour. Turning, he walks down the ward, the fluorescent lights, the sound of the machines and the staff who whirred around busily make it feel as though it should still be the middle of the day. He doesn't look at any of the other beds as he passes, he doesn't want to gawk and he also doesn't want to feel sorry for anyone else, to risk sharing in their misery; he is far too lost in his own.

The main door has a pad, when he hits it, he hears the door lock click free and he steps out into the corridor. The lighting out here is still bright, but it has an eerie glow and it is silent other than the buzz of the bulbs, an odd contrast from the environment he's just stepped out of. He rubs his burning eyes, feeling them sting and water. His whole head aches, a dull throb at his temples and behind his forehead. He feels as though he can easily sleep for a year while at the same time knowing if his head ends up anywhere near a pillow that his thoughts are racing far too much to allow any sleep. Looking at the agent standing by the entrance to the ward, Henry realises that he doesn't recognise him. "I was told that Russell Jackson was waiting for me?"

"He is, Dr McCord. He's in the relative's room."

Henry gives a nod, trudging heavily in that direction, trying to steel himself for whatever topic Russell is about to throw at him. The door opens with a click and he steps inside.

Russell turns at the sound, his gaze flickers over Henry. His eyes are bloodshot, his eyelids slightly puffy, whilst his skin looks pale and pasty underneath the lighting, with every line appearing deeply etched in his skin. He looks nothing like the man who has now adorned the government arm candy lists for two years in a row. Knowing that it was a trite question at this time, but asking for the sake of appearing polite, he asks, "Henry, how are you holding up?"

"I'll be better when I can get back to my wife," he mutters.

"Of course." He gives a deep sigh, rubbing at his chin, he looks up. "You want a coffee?"

"Sure," Henry agrees. "I can stretch my legs in the five-hundred-yard walk to get there." They fall into a slow steady pace together as they leave the room, their footsteps echoing in the empty corridor. "So," he remarks, elongating the vowel for an extra beat. "I'm sure you didn't come here to buy me a hospital coffee, so what is it Russell?"

"It's…awkward," he admits. "I wanted to talk to you about Ray Merchant."

Henry's lips thin, drawing into a tight line as his eyes focus on a spot on the wall ahead, forcing himself to stay calm. "What about him?"

"I thought we could avoid dragging this all out and get Merchant to enter a guilty plea."

"And just how are you planning to do that?"

"With your permission I'd like to take the death penalty off the table."

They stop at the machine and Henry leans against one vending machine as Russell slides the coins into the coffee machine, which registers them with an audible clink. "I wasn't aware that we could now blackmail people into pleading guilty."

Russell hands him his coffee, taking a sip of his own, a momentary grimace twisting his lips. "FBI found some street diazepam on him; we ask him to tell us his dealer and plead guilty and we don't ask for the death penalty."

"You want to offer the man who shot my wife a deal, just to bring in some dealer," Henry growls.

"The dealer is a cover; we don't need him but it's a means to an end. As you say we can't be seen to be holding the death penalty over him as blackmail."

"And what makes you think that he'll even take it?"

"Merchant threw his gun down the second after he fired, he didn't make an attempt to shoot again despite having ample chance to do so." Russell sees Henry wince at his words, his left eye flickering. "Sorry, that was maybe a little bit too on the nose," he acknowledges. "My point is that this guy didn't want to die, didn't give the service an excuse to shoot his sorry ass. He'll take this deal and we can all avoid a trial."

Henry takes a thoughtful sip of his coffee, Russell's words turning over and over in his mind. "Why do we need to avoid a trial? You think he won't be found guilty? He handed himself over at the scene, I don't think we need to worry about it." Henry shakes his head, his tone turns hard and bitter as he adds, "Let him take his chances in court."

"It's not about his chances in court. It's about trying to avoid a show trial. Yes, he'll be found guilty," Russell admits. "But the rhetoric that he spews out in his defence will be messy, I have no doubt that any defence lawyer will highlight that he was Elizabeth's student-"

"What's that got to do with anything?"

"Henry…come on, you know what it is I'm trying to say here." He gestures outwards with one hand. "I don't like it, but…"

Henry's cheeks redden, his eyes glinting with rage, that is now bubbling to the surface. "But what?" His voice lowers into a quiet, warning grumble. "Say it. I want you to say it."

Russell shakes his head. "He's delusional, he'll play the affair card and the media will jump on it. I want to avoid it."

"Because of the optics," Henry spits in disgust, his grasp tightening on his polystyrene cup. "You seem to forget that Elizabeth is the victim here."

"I haven't forgotten. I'm just being realistic."

"Realistic?" Henry echoes, throwing his barely touched coffee into the bin. "I don't want to be realistic. I want the man who tried to kill Elizabeth to face the force of the law!" His voice raises at the last sentence.

Russell gives the corridor a nervous glance, his shoulders relaxing when he sees it's still empty. "I know it's unfair, I know it's-"

"A damning inditement on our victim blaming culture? Of our determination to always clear the white man of any wrongdoing?"

"We don't live in an ideal world. I don't like bringing this to you, but I know what it's going to look like in six to twelve months when the trial comes around. What is going to be made up and dragged out."

Henry points a finger a Russell, jabbing it with irritation as he speaks. "If Elizabeth was a man, you wouldn't have brought this to me. It wouldn't even be a consideration."

"No, it wouldn't," Russell admits. "But she isn't."

"No. No! Let the Bastard go to trial. Let him pull whatever he wants to the media, it won't change the outcome. Screw your optics."

He turns on his heel, storming away. Russell calls out after him, "It's not about the optics."

Spinning round, Henry snaps, "Like hell it isn't!"

"It isn't, really it isn't." Russell steps closer. "This is DC, I have to sell it on the optics, but...Henry, I've had open heart surgery and the recovery is a bitch. I mean I know I made it look easy, but.," he raises his hands and arms in a shrug. "I was pretending. And I can't imagine recovering from that, along with the trauma of being shot and having the media tear me to shreds because of the way this world works. We won't have the death penalty for much longer, you know the legislation that's in the works, a few more years and it'll be gone, and his sentence will be commuted to life anyway. So why go through it? Look I know it doesn't seem like it, but I'm on your side."

"And if Elizabeth doesn't wake up, or if she isn't aware of what the media is saying?" Henry asks. "Then what does it matter?"

"It will matter to your kids. If this comes to the worse case scenario, do you want this pulled up when they're trying to grieve?"

"Stop," Henry warns him. "Don't use our children as a reason to let society away with this!" He shakes his head, his hand running through his hair. "Only a few weeks ago Elizabeth was being judged on the merit of her legs and the way she looked rather than what she achieved. And now what you're telling me is that when some lunatic walks up to her and blasts her in the chest with a bullet, it doesn't matter that he's at fault but because she's an attractive, successful woman, the media will find a way to turn this into her fault. Find a way to say that she deserved it. You know what Russell; you walk into that ward and look at what he's done to her. You stand by her bed and look at all the tubes and machines that she needs to keep her alive and then just for good measure ask the FBI to see her blood soaked blouse and then tell me that I should pay more attention to media spin and lies than I should for getting justice for my wife." When Russell stares down awkwardly at his shoes, clearing his throat but making no reply, Henry concludes, "Unless Elizabeth wakes up and says otherwise, it goes to trial."

"Ok," Russell tells him. "Court date to read the charges and for him to enter his plea is likely to be tomorrow afternoon at the earliest, so if you change your mind…"

"I won't."

"One last thing, President Dalton would like to visit Elizabeth. He wanted me to ask if that would be possible."

Henry gives a short nod. "Of course, I'm sure that the hospital won't turn away the President of the United States."

"I'll let him know."

"Fine. I'm going to get back to Elizabeth. Thanks for the coffee."

Russell digs his hands into the pockets of his jacket as he watches Henry McCord walk away from him and exhales deeply. That had been even worse than he'd pictured, and his day wasn't even finished yet.

* * *

"Is she asleep? Sophie askes, folding a dish towel over her hands and pulling a bowl out of the warm oven.

Will nods as he sits down at the table, helping himself to a couple of wraps. "She is, took a while though."

Sophie nudges the bowl with the filling for his fajita closer to him. "You know you didn't need to sit with her until she fell asleep."

"I know, but I wanted to," he admits, as he spooned large amounts of the mix into a wrap, folding it up into a neat parcel. He takes a bite, chewing slowly and swallowing before he speaks again. "She was asking about Lizzie, I wanted to make sure that she could go to sleep."

"Ah." Sophie sits down across from her husband, taking a sip of her wine. "I didn't tell her what happened, I just thought it was best she knew something."

"I agree. I just hoped I'd never need to have that conversation with her."

Sophie pushes forward a glass of wine. "Want some? You look like you could do with it."

"I'm going to go back to the hospital, so I'll give it a miss."

"How is she?"

Will sighs, leaning back in his chair and suddenly wishes that he hadn't turned down the alcohol. "I don't know. She's stable, physically she made it through surgery so she should come through it."

"But?" Sophie asks leadingly.

"But she had a cardiac arrest, depending on how long her brain went without oxygen…" He tails off.

Sophie winced. "How bad could it be?"

"She was in hospital; they had an airway in place so they could deliver some oxygen. With chest compressions there's a good chance that her brain did get some oxygen. Whether or not it was enough to stave off permanent damage." He raises his shoulders in a shrug. "I don't know," he whispers. "That's the problem, no-one knows."

Getting up, Sophie walks around the table to move behind him, draping her arms around his shoulders, leaning into him and pressing a kiss into his hair. "Oh Will, I'm so sorry."

Will feels his eyes water and he rubs at them with the back of his hand, a quiet sniff escaping him. "You know, Lizzie was always on my case about keeping safe. It used to drive me crazy even though I knew that she was just afraid of losing me. I never gave it a thought, not really." He leans his head back against Sophie's chest. "I always thought that if I was to go first then fine, sometimes I felt as though I shouldn't have survived the accident and that it would just be righting a mistake. I never once thought that I'd be the one left behind."

"I know it's not the same, but you will always have the kids, they're part of her and they'll need you more than ever."

"I know." He gives a sad smile. "I just don't know if I'm ready for this."

"No one ever is." She reaches down and squeezes his hand. "But you have me and you have Annie; always."

Will tilts his head upwards and presses a kiss to Sophie's mouth, for tonight he's glad of the pretence that everything between them is fine, that they're dropping a veil over their problems. "For that alone, I'm a lucky guy," he tells her.


	16. Chapter 16

Jason leaned forward on the sofa, his elbows pressing into his thighs and his chin resting on his clasped hands as he watched the standardised photo of his Mom appear in the corner of the TV screen. The news writer tilted his head in what Jason suspected was meant to be an endearing manner.

"Tonight, the State Department has released a statement updating that Secretary Elizabeth McCord is now out of surgery and is reported as being in a serious but stable condition following an assassination attempt in Lincoln Park at lunchtime today. FBI Director Kevin Doherty has announced that this was an isolated, targeted attack on Secretary McCord and that charges of attempted murder have been brought against one individual." His head tilted to the other side and Jason felt an irrational surge of irritation. "Although Director Doherty didn't name the shooter, this channel can confirm that a Raymond Merchant has been charged." The picture in the corner changed to a dark-haired man, who's chubby cheeks were decorated with a fine layer of stubble, a small goatee on his chin. His hair was overlong and brushed the collar of his shirt. He was seated at a table and the others next to him were blurred out. Jason forced himself to look away from the picture and made himself listen to the rest of the statement. "Director Doherty has also announced that the FBI failed to pass on information that may have seen Raymond Merchant identified as a viable risk prior to today's shooting and that a full internal investigation will be launched, we now go live-"

Jason made a quiet scoffing noise of anger and hit the power button, switching off the TV, and rocking back on the sofa he ran his fingers through his hair and pressed his palms against his eyes. He sat like that for a moment, feeling the anger thrum in his veins and he inhaled deeply, trying to calm himself down. He had always railed against the establishment, believed that they kept secrets that they had no right in keeping. Normally he might have crowed at any of their failures, used it to needle at his parents but there was no victory in this. His Mom believed in the establishment, believed and followed their rules – for the most part – and he had no doubt that she believed that they kept her safe in return; but they hadn't.

He slid his hands down his face, twisting one so that he could chew at the side of his thumbnail, wondering just what the FBI had missed. He played what his Dad had told them over again in his head. That he had reported him, that he had thought he was the one stalking them, but then that surgeon had come in and Ali had lost it and they hadn't finished the conversation. He didn't know what it was that they'd missed, but it had to be big if they were admitting to it.

There was a scuffling sound behind him and he turned to see Alison lingering at the edge of the table, a fleece blanket draped round her shoulders, her hand clutching it tight. "Were you watching the news?"

"Yeah."

Alison shuffled forward towards the sofa, dropping onto it with a heavy sigh. "What did they say?"

"Showed a picture of the guy who did it."

Alison's grip tightened on her blanket as she pulled her legs up onto the sofa, curling in on herself so that her chin rested on her knees. "I couldn't really see him in the video, not clearly anyway. What did he look like?"

Jason's mouth pulled tight, feeling the rage surge again. "Nothing special," he replied, his voice gruffer than usual. "They never are though." He sighed, letting his head fall back against the sofa, staring up at the ceiling light. "It said the FBI made a mistake, that they didn't pass on information; that they might have identified him before the shooting."

"Did they say what it was?"

"Nope, just that they'd investigate it."

"I wonder if Dad knows."

"He must do, the guy from the FBI came to see him earlier, remember?" He shot his sister a sidelong glance. "He probably just didn't get the chance to tell us."

Alison gave a sigh, picking at a loose thread on her blanket as she pulled her gaze away from her brother's. "You mean because I lost it with him."

"You did go a bit nuclear." He held up a hand. "Look I'm not annoyed, although I was at the time. I just don't get why you blame Dad."

She bit down on her bottom lip, her eyes watering. "When I saw the video all I could see was Mom standing there by herself because he was late and then he said about giving the FBI that guys name and…I just lost it."

"You still angry with him?"

"A bit," she admitted. "Not in the same way. I just can't help thinking that if he'd been there then it wouldn't have happened." She gave a soft sigh, her nail continuing to work at the pull in the fabric of the blanket. "Uncle Will thinks he might have just gone ahead and done it anyway, but that Dad would have been hurt."

Jason frowned thoughtfully, his mind slowly picking over the facts that he knew about what had happened, trying to piece them into some semblance that made sense. "I don't know." He left out a huff of breath, his left knee jiggling nervously. "I mean guys that do this kind of thing, it's a power play, isn't it?"

"Yeah." Alison turned her head, now resting her cheek on her knees. "That's why I think he wouldn't have done it if Dad was there. He waited until she was alone, he wouldn't have had the balls to go near her otherwise; at least I don't think he would have."

"Maybe not, but you can't be mad at Dad forever."

"I don't want to be," she sighed irritably. "I just…" She shook her head. "I wish I'd never watched that video."

Jason watched as his sister closed her eyes for a few seconds, squeezing them tightly as she gave a soft sniffle. "I…I thought about watching it," he admitted. "When Russell mentioned it…if I'd had my phone, I would have looked it up."

"Don't," she recommended.

"Well I won't now," he scoffed, a teasing smirk pulling at his lips. "You've definitely put me off."

Alison rolled her eyes at him. "Believe me, you're not missing out."

He swallowed nervously, his voice quieter than usual as he asked, "Is it really bad? I know that sounds stupid to ask, but…" He gave a shrug, muttering, "I don't know, don't even know what I'm trying to say."

"It's really bad. I thought that it would help me make sense of what happened to Mom, of why it happened but it didn't. He just walks right up to her; he didn't even give her a chance and she just drops." She notices how her brother's expression drops, his mouth slackening as his eyes drift to the floor and she feels a tug of guilt, he's her little brother, she should be making him feel better, not worse. "Just don't watch it Jase, it doesn't answer anything, and it doesn't help you make sense of any of this."

"Ali…what do we do if Mom doesn't wake up?" He doesn't meet her eyes as he voices the one thought that's been niggling him all day long. He hadn't been able to voice that fear before now, but it wouldn't leave him.

She inhales sharply, she's played that scenario through her brain a couple of times today in an effort to prepare herself for the worst. "We stick together."

"Dad will be a wreck and you're still angry at him."

Alison swallows heavily and nods. "Yeah, I am, but he's still my Dad. I didn't mean to hurt him, I didn't think when I said-"

"I get it," Jason interrupted her. "When he first told us what happened I was really angry, but I just didn't know who to be angry at. You found the someone."

"Suppose. Are you still angry?"

"Yeah, still not sure where to aim it though." His teeth worried the ragged edge of his fingernail again. "And Dad's angry, you can see it in him. So if we're all angry then how do we stick together? And I mean you and Stevie might both be going off to college, you could be miles away."

Alison's shoulder's straightened and she shifted herself so that she was facing Jason on the sofa. "I can defer for a year," she reassured him. She gave a small, sad smile. "I don't really think that I'll feel like starting college in the fall if…well…you know." She reached out and patted his shoulder. "We'll get through it and I won't say anything to Dad."

Jason looked across at his sister. "You know if you get angry then you can always tell me or Stevie about it."

"And you can tell us as well."

"Yeah." He finally relaxed back against the sofa cushions, although his leg continued to jiggle nervously.

* * *

Stevie tentatively opened the door to her parent's bedroom, unsure why she was so nervous, she normally bounced into this room without a second thought, rarely even knocking. Now it felt like an intrusion. Maybe she shouldn't have told Alison that she wanted to do this alone. Another second of hesitation and she finally reached for the light switch, hearing the quiet buzz as it switched on and leaned in the doorway, peering in almost nervously.

The room was exactly as it always was, why would it have been otherwise, she wondered. She could tell from the perfect placement of the cushions on the bed that it was her Mom who had made it that morning. The effect was slightly ruined by the fact that her Mom had then proceeded to throw a couple of her blouses across the comforter, obviously in search of an outfit that morning.

She stepped into the room, her bare feet sinking into the thick carpeting as she padded around. A pair of her Mom's reading glasses sat askew on her bedside table, her make up scattered across and left lying at various points around the room. Stevie felt an odd tug in her stomach at the sight, wondering if she should tidy up, if seeing this would upset her Dad when he came home. Or would moving it upset him more? She sighed, she'd leave it alone for just now, think about it another time.

Stepping into the dressing room, she opened the cupboard door and standing up onto her tip toes she pulled down one of the smaller travel bags, unclipping the built-in toiletries bag. Her Mom's toiletries were mainly around the sink, her shower gel at the side of the bath. Stevie hesitated, unsure of what to take, of what would be needed. Shower gel, she'd definitely need that, and some deodorant. Hopefully tomorrow she would have that tube taken out, then she'd need her toothbrush and toothpaste. Her hand hovered over the shampoo and conditioner, maybe in a few days. She'd noticed the ends of her Mom's hair when they'd been in the room. They'd been damp, clumping together in thick strands, and when she'd leaned in to kiss her cheek she had seen small flecks of blood still matted in the strands and realised that the staff had tried to wash the worst of it out. If her Mom woke up then she'd want to wash it as quickly as possible. When, she corrected herself, when her Mom woke up. She shoved the shampoo and conditioner into the bag, deciding it was best to be prepared.

As she moved back to the door, Stevie paused again, realising that her Dad might need some things as well. There was a sink in the toilet attached to the relative's room, he could brush his teeth and he'd probably appreciate a change of shirt and some deodorant. Moving back into the bedroom, she picked up his reading glasses and the book that was next to it, placing those carefully into the bag as well.

Placing the bag on the bed, Stevie looked around the room, wondering if she'd missed anything, her mind racing as she tried to run through what else they might need. She let out a shaky breath and shook her head, if she missed anything then she could get it tomorrow, she reminded herself. It wouldn't be a big deal. She zipped up the bag and sat down next to it, laying back and staring up at the ceiling, watching the shadows casted by the light.

After a moment, she pushed her hand into the pocket of her jeans and dug out her mobile phone. She looked at the screen, sucking her bottom lip in between her teeth as she pulled up Jareth's contact details. Her heart hammered in her chest. She needed to speak to him, she wanted to speak to him she corrected herself quickly. Before she could change her mind, she hit the call button, listening to the ringing, and silently hoping that it went to voicemail. It didn't. Jareth's tired voice answered after a few rings. "Stevie, are you ok?"

"Yeah," her voice came out as a nervous croak, and she cleared her throat before trying again. "I'm ok, I just wanted to talk to you."

"Oh."

She heard him stifle a yawn and realised that she hadn't considered the time difference. "Oh, Jareth I didn't think about the time, it must be past midnight there."

"Half one according to my alarm clock." She heard him shuffle. "But it doesn't matter. How's your Mom?"

"She's out of surgery."

"Yeah, I saw the news update just before I came to bed."

Stevie felt another sickening jolt in the pit of her stomach, was that a dig? Or was she just overthinking. "I meant to call earlier-"

"It's ok, really. I shouldn't have had a go earlier."

"I should have called, I just got caught up."

"It's fine," he told her with a sigh.

She felt her stomach plummet, she didn't think that it sounded fine, but she was sure that mentioning it would just make everything worse. Her eyes began to water and she forced herself not to sniffle, suddenly not wanting him to know just how upset she was. "We got to see her," she told him after an awkward beat of silence.

"I'm glad. She must have been glad to see you all."

"She's not awake yet," Stevie admitted.

"Oh, sorry, I just assumed…the news was vague…"

"They're going to keep her sedated overnight, because of the surgery they want her lungs to rest."

"Right, but she's going to be ok?"

Stevie swallowed heavily. "They don't know, they've…they've said that…" the words stuck in her throat before a loud hiccupping sob tore loose.

Jareth shuffled again in the background and she could hear his bedcovers rustling. "Stevie, I'm so sorry. Look I was going to text you in the morning, but I've got a plane ticket, I leave in about 6 hours and I'll be home. I'll be with you."

Her sobs grew heavier, her nose streaming and she unthinkingly wiped at it with her sleeve. That thought should make her feel better, and yet she felt worse. "This was your chance to make up with your family," she choked out.

"On this one they understand, I promise. I'll text you when I land and you just tell me where to go, tell me where you need me to be."

Stevie felt as though the walls were closing in on her at his words, they were meant to be comforting, reassuring, they should be what she wanted to hear. "I should let you sleep," she finally snuffled. "If you have a flight…"

"I can stay awake."

"No, I…I'll see you tomorrow." She cut the call before he could protest, belatedly realising she hadn't said goodbye, never mind told him she loved him. At that last thought her stomach flipped and her crying intensified. She rolled onto her side, curling up into a ball, her hands curling into a fist against her parent's duvet.

Suddenly she felt a hand on her shoulder and the bed dip, and she looked up to see Alison sitting on the bed. She curled against her back, her chin resting gently on her shoulder and whispered, "I heard you in the hall."

"I'm sorry."

"Don't be. You want to talk?"

Stevie shook her head. "Not yet."

"Ok. Well I'm at least going to get you some tissues, your sleeve is soaking." Alison shuffled off the bed, the blanket that was draped around her shoulder dragging like a cape on the carpet behind her. Stevie forced herself into a sitting position for when Alison pushed the box into her hands, her head going back to Stevie's shoulder. The two sisters sat in a comfortable silence other than the sound of Stevie sniffing and blowing her nose.

Eventually Stevie croaked, "Jareth is flying back."

Alison gave her a sideways glance. "Oh."

"Yeah." She suddenly frowned towards the door. "Where's Jason?"

"Getting plates out. Will says he's bringing us across some dinner, he's on his way. That's what I came up to tell you."

"Right." Stevie crumpled a tissue in her palm. "I packed some stuff for Mom."

"Did you get her perfume?"

"No…I didn't think she'd need it."

"I read that they can spray it on the bedsheets," Alison told her. She leaned backwards, stretching out across the bed to grab the perfume bottle on the nightstand, pushing it into the bag. "You ready to come down?"

Stevie gave a nod. "Two minutes, I'll go and rinse my face. I'll get you down there." She watched Alison go, trying to ignore the butterflies in her stomach and the pounding in her chest.


	17. Chapter 17

Henry blinked repeatedly and rubbed at his eyes, they felt gritty, as if sand had gathered in the corners whilst the fluorescent lights only worsened the feeling, adding to his already pounding headache. His eyes scanned across Elizabeth's still frame, and he shifted slightly in his seat when he saw suddenly saw her top lip move against the breathing tube; his first thought that he was imagining it. He stared at her intently, the seconds ticking by, until finally he saw her eyebrow flicker, her forehead creasing momentarily and felt her pinkie flex against the white, starched sheet. "Elizabeth, Babe, can you hear me?"

She didn't respond, her expression remaining unchanged, but the nurse looked up, asking, "Is everything ok?"

Henry didn't pull his eyes away from his wife, continuing to watch her for any sign that she had heard him. "She moved, she frowned. I know it, I saw it." The nurse walked across to the bed, her eyes moving between Elizabeth and the monitors. Elizabeth's forehead creased again, her cheek giving a small twitch. Henry leaned further forward at the movement, coming off the hard, plastic seat, one hand gripping hers as the other cupped her face, his thumb brushing against her cheekbone. "Elizabeth, I'm here." He looked at the nurse. "This has to be a good sign," he stated hopefully.

The nurse assessed the slightly elevated heart rate and blood pressure but kept her face steady and her tone level. "I think Elizabeth might be sore," she told him.

Henry felt his heart drop back into his stomach, for a few moments he'd found something positive to focus on. "But, surely it has to be a good sign," he repeated. "They said there might be some brain damage, that she might not wake up…" He swallowed against the lump in his throat as his grip on Elizabeth's hand momentarily tightened and his next words came out in a rush of breath, "But if she's moving, then does it mean that she's more likely to wake up?"

Her eyes were sympathetic as she replied softly, "Elizabeth is doing exactly what we'd want her to be doing right now. She is on a lot of sedation and that is at a dosage designed to keep her unconscious, so right now we have no way just to tell what is going to happen long term. I know you want answers, but we can't give any just now." Glancing up again at the monitor she told him, "I'm going to get another nurse so that I can give Elizabeth some extra morphine and make her more comfortable."

Henry was only just aware of her walking to the door and gesturing for one of her colleagues. He dropped back into and leaned against the hard back of the uncomfortable plastic chair, letting their low conversation about dosage drift over him. His eyes closed for a moment and he heard the beep of the machine and the soft clicks and whirs of it as it delivered its extra dose. He felt his eyes burn as his cheeks tightened and he fought against the rising fear that had gathered in his chest. As he heard the nurse's pen scratch across the paper, he opened his eyes again. Elizabeth's forehead was smooth once more, her face back to the expressionless mask that made him feel that he was sitting with a wax-work of his wife and not the vibrant woman he had spent the last thirty years with. He was being stupid, he told himself, he didn't want Elizabeth to be in pain, but he had just wanted to hope that it was a sign, that she was still in there and that she'd be coming back to him. His throat was dry and his voice sounded harsh when he asked, "All sorted?"

"It is." Her head tilted. "Why don't I see if I can get you a more comfortable chair?" she offered.

Henry shook his head. "I'm fine."

"Well you won't be if you spend all night hunched in that," she told him. "I'll see if someone can poach one of the high-backed padded chairs from the relative's room for you."

"You really don't have to."

"I know," she told him with a soft smile. "But lucky for you I'm going to do it anyway."

* * *

Alison shuffled down the stairs and into the kitchen where her brother was clattering about with the plates, a collection of cutlery being thrown onto the counter next to them. She rubbed her nose with the edge of her knuckle as she eyed the chaos. "You haven't put out any forks," she told him.

Jason glanced back over at the pile of kitchenware and shrugged. "Get some in a minute. You tell Stevie about food?"

"Uh huh." Alison shifted on her feet. "Jareth is flying back; he'll be here tomorrow."

"That good or bad?"

"You'd think good, but she seemed pretty upset, so I'm going to lean towards bad." Alison sat down at the kitchen table, twisting on the chair and resting her chin on the wooden back.

"She could just, you know, tell him not to come out."

"I don't imagine that would go down well." Alison shifted, freeing some strands of her long hair from where they'd become trapped underneath her chin as she spoke. "I suppose you never know, maybe him being here will help."

Jason shot her a sceptical look from across the kitchen. "Or maybe they'll be have a screaming break up in a hospital waiting room." He banged some forks on the counter. "I know what one I'd put money on."

"I thought you liked Jareth."

"I don't not like him. I just don't think he's for Stevie." Jason pulled open the fridge, raking through it and extracting a packet of cooked ham, snatching a few slices that he then shredded with his fingers and dropped into his mouth.

Alison grimaced at her brother's actions. "We're getting dinner in like twenty minutes tops."

"Yeah, but I'm starving now," he told her, a slight grin on his face and his voice muffled through a mouthful of ham.

Shaking her head, Alison sighed as she flicked the subject back again. "So, why don't you think they're for each other?"

"Because in some relationships, not all, but some, someone thinks they're the star and that's what Jareth thinks." He sucked the remaining flavour of his impromptu snack off his thumb before continuing, "you can tell. I mean look at how he treats Stevie's internship, he doesn't see it as a big deal, not compared to his stuff." He leaned back against the kitchen counter. "I mean do you really see him hanging around if Mom doesn't wake up?"

"Mom's going to wake up," Alison told him forcefully.

"That's not what I meant." He ran his fingers through his hair, causing it to stick out at odd angles. "I just mean that it'll take away from him."

"He did give up going back to England for her," Alison pointed out.

"Yup, and they've fought non-stop ever since because it meant that he wasn't the priority." Jason levered himself up onto the kitchen island, perching on the edge as his feet clattered against the cupboard doors underneath as he swung his legs back and forth. "He's not a bad guy," he sighed. "But I really don't see tomorrow going well." He frowned and added quickly, "For Stevie."

"If Mom wakes up then Stevie might not care." Alison's nose wrinkled and her lips momentarily pursed as she followed that thought process and then added, "I mean she might not care straight away, I'm sure she'll care eventually."

"And then bam!" Jason clapped his hand off the counter-top. "Hospital waiting room break-up."

Alison rolled her eyes and found a tiny chip of loose paint on the seat of her chair to pick at. "I thought I might sleep down here tonight, just bring my duvet down and put some films on."

"Why?"

She shrugged. "Just feel like it."

"Want company? Jason asked after a moment. "We could get the airbeds down from the top of the airing cupboard. Stevie could join in as well. I mean if we're going to wait this out then we may as well wait it out together. I know I'm not going to get much sleep tonight."

Alison smiled. "That sounds really good. I'll go and ask Stevie and get the duvets and pillows. You want to get the airbeds down?"

"Sure. It's either that or just eat more ham."

* * *

The new chair was more comfortable Henry admitted to himself, it certainly had eased the aching in his lower back and it was nice to be able to lean the side of his head on the slightly padded wing that curved out at the sides, but not so far that it impeded his view of Elizabeth. She hadn't moved again since the extra medication and although he couldn't shake that feeling of discontent and trepidation, he was relived to know that she was pain-free. His fingertips moved automatically down her wrist and over her hand, in a gentle caress that he repeated constantly, unsure if he was attempting to comfort her or reassure himself. He moved his fingers in a careful arc, around the clear plaster across her wrist that covered the plastic tip of the arterial line that jutted awkwardly out at a slight angle, then avoiding the attached line that looped around her thumb and back up towards the head of the bed again, the line held steady on the bed by small strips of clear adhesive tape. The jumble of wires attached to Elizabeth terrified him, the sheer magnitude of what was needed to tether her to life would hit him at short intervals and he'd force himself to draw back from that terrifying thought before it engulfed him.

There was a stir from outside the room, the low constant hum of the other machines in the ward and the other staff members as they moved calmly from one job to the next was now just background noise to Henry, but suddenly he became aware of the change in pitch. He could hear some, almost excited chatter echo up to the top end of the ward. He turned towards the door in time to see one of the secret service men step into the doorway. "Dr McCord, President Dalton is here," he informed him.

"Send him in," Henry told him, getting to his feet, a rush of pins and needles shooting up his left foot and ankle as he turned to the door.

Conrad stepped in and gave him a polite, if slightly strained smile. "Henry, you don't need to stand." His smile faltered as his gaze fell to Elizabeth. "How is she?"

"Stable." He gestured to the second chair on the opposite side of the bed. "Take a seat, Mr President."

"Right now, Conrad is fine." His tall frame folded into the chair, but he didn't relax, instead he leaned forward, his elbows on his knees, his hands clasped so that he could rest his chin on them. "They're hoping to wake her up tomorrow?"

Henry dropped back into his chair. "That's the plan. I assume you've been told about the complications."

"I was updated," Conrad confirmed. "Lydia and I will keep her in our prayers tonight."

"That's kind of you."

There was a prolonged silence, it stretched awkwardly for at least a minute, the normally easy rapport between the two men falling away. "Is there anything I can do for you?" Conrad finally asked.

Henry levelled a stare across the bed, "You can call off your Chief of Staff."

"Russell did mention that you weren't amenable to his suggestion."

Henry's cheek twitched in anger, his fingers starting their trace of Elizabeth's arm and hand once again. "I don't know why you thought I would be."

"I didn't, but Russell thought it might spare some future upset. He won't bring it up again," the older man promised him.

"Good."

Conrad sat back slightly, and his knee began to bounce as his foot tapped out an agitated beat on the linoleum floor. "There's going to be an investigation into the FBI, we'll get to the bottom of why Merchant wasn't registered with the service as a credible threat."

A humourless smile crossed Henry's face, drawing his mouth upwards in a tight line. "Possibly because he wasn't a threat until I made him one."

"You had a gut feeling about him, of what he was capable of. The safeguards in place to protect Elizabeth failed and I promise that we'll find out why."

Henry didn't reply, his face set into grim mask as he looked back towards his wife.

The two men fell once more into silence, another few minutes ticking slowly by until there was a knock at the door and a young female doctor in a pair of blue scrubs stepped into the room, a red stethoscope hanging around her neck and her black hair pulled up off her face in a haphazard bun, strands of which were escaping and frizzing around her face. "Dr McCord, I'm Dr Garcia, I'm the registrar on call tonight."

She held out her hand and Henry stood to shake it, clearing his throat nervously as he asked, "Is everything ok?"

"It was just to give you a quick update, although," her gaze slid to the President and back again, "I can arrange to come back."

"No, whatever it is you can say it."

"It was just to let you know that we've had Elizabeth's most recent bloods back. The good news is that her blood gasses that measure lung function and oxygenation are positive however, I'm concerned that her haemoglobin levels are still quite low despite the transfusions given during surgery. So, I think the best course of action is to arrange a further blood transfusion for her overnight, we'll give another two units and then re-assess in the morning."

"Why is it still low?" Henry asked.

"Elizabeth lost a lot of blood before we could get her into theatre, and it's common for multiple transfusions to be needed both before and following surgery in that case. We can estimate how much she lost but can't be accurate in the circumstances. The good news is that her blood pressure and heart rate are stable, so I'm confident that we'll see an improvement following this line of treatment. I've spoken to blood bank and we should be able to start the first one in the next half hour." She pushed her glasses up the bridge of her nose from where they had slipped downwards. "Do you have any questions for me?"

"If this doesn't work then what next?"

"Elizabeth's levels indicate that two units of blood should make a sufficient difference, although we can't rule out any further transfusions. If there isn't the improvement we expect or if her condition were too deteriorate then we may arrange a CT scan to look for any potential causes." She offered a reassuring smile. "Although I don't anticipate that it will be required."

"Ok." Henry nodded. "If that's what she needs…"

She lingered a moment, her gaze flickering once more to the other man in the room, before she spun on her rubber soled shoes and swept almost silently from the room.

Henry gave a heavy sigh. "It just feels like one thing after another," he told Conrad after a few seconds of charged silence. "Anytime I think that there's a chance she'll come through this, something else turns up."

"I can't imagine how you feel just now, but Bess is stubborn, she's a fighter and if anyone can come through this then it's her."

He wanted to agree with him, he knew his wife was strong-willed, but as this went on he could feel his faith that she could fight this and come back to them waver. His faith had always held before, had stood up to any test put to it, but he could feel it slipping away. If Elizabeth had any control in this then she would come through, he didn't doubt that. His worry was that it wasn't going to come down to her stubbornness or her willingness to fight. His worry was that she had no control and that she was going to slip away from him and all he was going to be able to do was sit and watch it happen.

* * *

Russell was lingering outside the door to the ward, his mobile in hand and a frown on his face when Conrad stepped out into the hospital corridor. For once he managed to tear his eyes up and away, falling into step with the President as he asked, "How is she?"

"Holding in there. I'm not convinced that the same can be said for Henry."

"No, he seemed on edge when I spoke to him. Never seen him so rattled and he didn't quote ethics at me even once. It was almost unnerving."

Conrad's gaze slid across to his Chief of Staff as he told him. "He's not happy with your suggestion about Merchant's plea deal, I think that one might be best left in the dust."

Russell gave an irate sigh. "I understand why he isn't happy about it, but it was a viable solution." His glare deepened as he turned his attention back to his phone, jabbing out a message on it. "Could have helped put this whole fiasco into a box and close the lid on it."

"I don't think this is something that will disappear with one news cycle."

"No, not one. But it would have stopped it rearing it's ugly head again in a few months. We know what's going to happen here. We are going to suffer every failing twice, once when it comes out and again during the trial. We could have just ripped the band-aid off and done it all in the one go, something I still think would have been preferable." He waved his hand. "But I get it, I will let it go." He pushed his phone back into the inside pocket of his suit jacket. "So, holding in there? I think we'll leave that out of the next press release."

"I wish I could be more positive but seeing her like that…" Conrad's lips thinned, and he shook his head. "Seeing Henry brought so low, it's hard to keep the faith."


	18. Chapter 18

Will was more than used to hospitals, in fact he felt strangely comfortable in them. After all he'd spent more time in some variation of them, than he ever had anywhere else, so the eeriness of them at night didn't phase him. The quiet buzz of the artificial lights didn't nip at his head and he wasn't perturbed by the odd silence in what would normally be a bustling building. He steadied the strap of the leather overnight bag on his shoulder as he meandered towards the intensive care unit, taking a large gulp of his coffee, timing finishing it with passing a bin and dropping the paper cup into it.

He pressed the buzzer at the entrance to the ward and waited until he heard the small click of the door lock being freed. Intensive care was an odd place at night, they now dimmed their lights unless they were needed and so most beds were shrouded in gloom, a singular nurse moving silently around the slow, quiet beeping machines. This was in stark contrast to the one of the beds where they were lit up, multiple staff moving busily to the sharp cacophony of warning beeps and alarms. Will quickened his pace to a brisk march down the ward in place of his previous casual stroll outside of it. He didn't want what was happening to catch his attention, after all that patient deserved their privacy just as much as his sister did.

Elizabeth's room was quiet as he approached it, with only a dim glow emanating out into the main ward and he felt a small rush of relief at the lack of activity. Her security detail stood by the door, stiff backed, hands clasped in front of them and Will couldn't help but wonder if they ever so much as slouched, he suspected not. Henry on the other hand was slouched, his body angled towards Elizabeth, his hand over hers with his head resting on the wing of the chair. He looked as though someone had deflated him, he sagged at the middle, slumping to the side of his chair, and for a moment Will thought he had fallen asleep where he sat. Then he saw Henry's hand flex and move over Elizabeth's and he realised he was awake.

Will cleared his throat, drawing his brother in law's attention, he nodded his head to the bag he carried and lifted up the carrier bag clenched in the same hand and announced, "I brought back some supplies."

Henry's hand stayed where it was, but he pulled himself up straight, like a marionette being lifted by their strings back into action. He managed a small smile that didn't quite reach his eyes. "How were the kids when you went back?"

"They were ok, took them some Thai food and they were tucking into that when I left. Although your sitting area looks like an explosion of cushions, they've decided to camp out downstairs together overnight and watch some films. I left just as the debate over what films started to heat up. Alison was pushing for some romantic comedies, and Jason was pushing for the Fast and the Furious." He placed the holdall on the floor next to the chair opposite Henry and sat down, adding, "Stevie was mediating though, so I'm sure they'll reach some form of compromise."

"She's her mother's daughter," Henry remarked, this time his smile lighting his eyes for the briefest of moments. "I always tried to tell Elizabeth that's why they used to clash so much."

"It also explains your Stevie whisperer nickname, you've always had the knack to calm Lizzie down, so being able to transfer that over to Stevie makes sense." Will let his gaze drift across his sister, noting the pallor of her skin, his eyes then taking in and assessing every number on the different machines. "I see they've started her on some more blood," he remarked, as he thought that might hopefully improve the waxy, white paleness of her colouring.

"Yeah." Henry rubbed tiredly at his forehead with his free hand as his head and shoulders bowed. "They said her haemoglobin was low, they think this should fix it."

Will gave a nod. "It should help." His clear, unwavering gaze turned to Henry. "And what about you? How have you been holding up?"

"As much as I can," he admitted.

Leaning back in his chair, Will looked him over assessing him in the same way he had his sister. Henry's clothing was rumpled, his tie long discarded and his top shirt button was undone, whilst his hair stood out at odd angles. His chin was darkening from his five o'clock shadow and his eyes were red rimmed and heavy, his cheeks and jaw pulled tight and his neck muscles slightly corded. In short he looked damned awful. "You look like Hell," he told him bluntly.

Henry gave a humourless chuckle at his words. "Yeah, well I've had better days."

"Hmmm. Well Sophie sent you some food and you look like you need it."

"I'm not really that hungry."

Will ignored him, pulling up the carrier bag and rummaging through it, talking as though Henry hadn't said anything, "Nothing hot I'm afraid, but a couple of wraps, some crisps, biscuits and even though I tried to stop her she's thrown some fruit in there as well." He pulled out a foil wrapped cylinder and held it across the bed to Henry.

He shook his head. "I appreciate the thought, but I really-"

"I'm not really asking," Will told him, shaking the wrap at him. "The kids need you and Lizzie needs you, and you're off no use to them if you starve yourself. Now eat it." He gave a smile of satisfaction when Henry reached out and took the proffered item. "Also I'm not telling Sophie you rejected her care package, it's not worth the earful I'll get for not looking out for you."

Henry picked at the foil, slowly peeling it back. "We can't have that."

"Absolutely not." Will handed him a bottle of water to go with his food.

"How are Sophie and Annie?"

Will's smile widened. "They're good, worried about Lizzie of course, but Sophie is keeping herself busy by keeping you fed and keeping Annie distracted."

"You told Annie?"

"Can't exactly keep away from the news, so felt it was best just to deal with it. She's actually dealing with it pretty well," Will admitted. "You can see she's worried, she's given me strict instructions to fix Lizzie and make sure that I'm home in time to take her to school, but she'll be fine."

"Good." Henry took a bite out of his wrap, chewing it slowly and swallowing, his shoulders visibly tightening as he then asked, "What's being said in the news?"

"There's some ongoing speculation about the enquiry into the FBI and some guesswork about what their role in it was, and they've named the guy of course."

"Anything about him?"

"Nothing yet, just his name." When Will heard Henry give a shaky sigh, he couldn't help but ask, "What is it?"

"President's Chief of Staff came to see me earlier. He thinks that press are going to twist that fact that he was Elizabeth's former student. Wanted to offer him a deal to get him to plead guilty, save a court case and cut the media off at the knees, and I told him no."

"What was the deal?"

"He hands over the name of a dealer along with entering a guilty plea and they take the death penalty off the table."

Will watched the muscle that twitched in Henry's cheek. "I thought you were against the death penalty?"

"I was…am…" Henry shook his head agitatedly, his eyes flickering to Elizabeth, fixing on her as he spoke, his voice taking on a hard, abrasive edge. "I know that it won't happen, even if that's his sentence, it won't happen. The last time they carried out the death penalty in DC was in 1957, and it's a year at most before they remove it from state law altogether. So even if I'd suddenly had a change of heart about my stance on it, it wouldn't matter, it would never really come to that."

"Then why not let them offer it. If you've said yourself that it won't happen then I don't understand why you've turned them down."

Henry's expression hardened; his eyes colder than Will had ever seen them. "Because I want him to suffer. The reason they think he'll take the deal is because he's afraid to die. I want him to feel fear. He shot my wife, he went to that park with the aim of killing her and in those moments after he fired that gun, she must have been afraid. I want him to feel that I want him to be scared."

Will felt his spine stiffen at the venom behind Henry's words. "This isn't you."

"I don't care if this isn't me. I won't let him feel like he won, like he has the power in this situation and we'll all dance to his tune. I know that whatever he says about Elizabeth will be a lie, designed to save his own skin and I won't let it work, I won't let him win," he repeated again.

Considering his words carefully before he spoke, Will's voice was soft and low as he implored Henry. "Don't let this eat at you, this will destroy you if you let it."

Henry's grip tightened on his wife's slack hand. "I promised Elizabeth that I would always turn up for her and I didn't The least I can do is make sure she gets justice."

Will sucked in a deep breath. "Look, I know the way guilt can eat at you. I let it gnaw away at me for years. Wishing that I had been able to find a way to go back and fix it. I would play the crash over and over again in my head, trying to play out how I could have saved my Mom. Then, when I was sixteen they made us read a Brave New World and there was this line in it, 'If you have behaved badly, repent, make what amends you can and address yourself to the task of behaving better next time. On no account brood over your wrongdoing. Rolling in the muck is not the best way of getting clean.' Now I can look back and know it wasn't my fault, but that's not how I felt then. So, I read that line over and over again, mulling over it. Wondering what I could do that would right the wrong I felt like I'd done and that's when I decided that even if I didn't save my Mom, I could save someone else's, I could fix my mistake by learning what I could have done and doing it. And so I became a trauma surgeon" He leaned forward and managed to catch Henry's gaze, his voice dropping to a quiet calming imploration, "You ran late for a lunch, you didn't let her down. If you need to, then find the thing you can improve and do it, but if you let this change you, let it define your principles and who you are, then Henry; he's won anyway and you know it."

Henry grimaced at his words and then shook his head; he could feel the sting of tears prickle behind his eyes. His voice was thick, his words catching in the back of his throat "She didn't deserve this."

"I know," Will acknowledged. "It's not fair, but don't let Lizzie wake up to find you like this."

The fear was back and clawing at him. When Henry looked at Elizabeth, he couldn't see the indomitable woman he'd married, instead he could just see her frailty, her vulnerability and he was scared. He had suffered loss before, but not like this. He knew life was unfair, had seen his friends fall in battle, but she'd always been there, and he'd thought she always would be. He never once thought she'd be ripped away from him with her life half lived. He couldn't even voice what worried him, afraid of what might happen if he did. Afraid he'd breathe life into the idea and it would take shape. He simply shook his head, turning his face away from Will's.

Will watched him, he looked bone weary. "You should go and get a few hours of sleep."

"It's only half past ten," he replied. "And I promised I wouldn't leave her."

"You promised she wouldn't be alone," Will pointed out saliently. "And I'll be sitting right here. Come on Henry, you need to rest. It's been a long day and I can promise you that the night's going to feel even longer."

"I don't think-"

"Sophie's even put in a travel pillow and blanket for you." Will interrupted, not waiting for him to give another excuse. "So, go and put your head down."

"What if something changes?"

"I will come and wake you. Henry at least go for a walk, get some fresh air." Will looked up at all the monitor's again. "The numbers are all fine, she's stable; you can go."

Henry hesitated, he wanted to stay, to be there for her, but a selfish part of him found sitting here a brand of torture. He couldn't do anything, couldn't help and he could feel his frustration mounting. He gave a nod. "Ok," he replied on a sigh. "I'll go for a bit."

"Go for as long as you need."

Will watched Henry lumber slowly and awkwardly towards the door, looking back as he went. Will waved him out encouragingly, belatedly realising that he hadn't made him take the food with him. He rolled his eyes at himself as he reached into the bag and pulled out the packet of Oreos. Waste not, want not.

* * *

The night air was cold and nipped at the tip of Henry's nose as he stood in the small portico next to the main entrance. He pushed his hands deep into the pockets, breathing deeply, feeling his headache ease. A lone smoker stood a few feet away from him, the smoke from their cigarette curling upwards in a long, white plume. The air catching it and carrying it across. It caught the back of Henry's throat and he coughed, earning himself a glower from the smoker.

He shifted out of the covered area and onto the main path, tilting his head so that he could look up at the sky. Large dark clouds covered any stars and he could hear the busy rush of the city, the tyres on the wet road and the distant squeal of sirens hanging in the night air. He felt a sudden yearning for their horse farm, for the quiet starry nights, where he and Elizabeth would sit on the porch, mugs of hot chocolate warming their hands. Elizabeth's head would press against his chest and he would sit with her in utter contentment.

A raindrop hit his cheek, the coldness startling him out of his thoughts as another drop landed in his hair. He drew his shoulders together, hunching momentarily as the wind began to pick up. Slowly, he turned back into the hospital. Not ready to go back, he just kept walking, letting his feet carry him until he found himself at the door to the hospital chapel.

The door was open and yet Henry hesitated, unsure if he'd find solace here or if it would just worsen his already flagging faith. Taking in a deep breath, he stepped inside. It was warmer, the air almost stuffy and perfumed by incense. The alter was set into an inlet at the back of the room. The only lights in the room situated above it, set into the ceiling, lending the room an ethereal glow. The wood of the cross attached to the back wall, gleaming in the soft light.

Henry ran his hand along the smooth edges of the pews as he walked towards the alter. Out of habit he crossed himself before dropping into the front pew. He sent up a silent prayer, choosing Jude Thaddeus, the patron saint of desperate causes to address his plea too. It's what he was, desperate, desperate for his wife to recover, desperate for his anger to subside and desperate for his faith to see him through this challenge.

The quiet, warmth of the chapel sunk into his bones and even after his prayer he kept his eyes closed, his head beginning to drop, his chin coming to rest on his chest as he gave into his tiredness and sleep claimed him.


	19. Chapter 19

Will winced as he read the blurb of the book that his nieces had picked out for Henry, a theologian tome that had managed to bored him witless in only those few lines. The magazines offered by the nursing auxiliary, although trashy and the pages creased and well thumbed, looked like the less evil option. Tossing the book back into the holdall, he picked one up, lounging back into his chair and swinging his legs up and over the opposite arm, so that his feet dangled in mid-air. He caught sight of Elizabeth's nurse lifting her head from her mountain of paperwork and raising an eyebrow at him. "Against the rules?" he queried.

She gave a smile. "Probably," she told him, her lips giving a conspiratorially twist. "But I'll overlook it."

"Great," Will returned her smile and proffered the biscuit packet. "Want one? Consider it a token of thanks for your silence."

"It's kind of you, but I just ate my weight in pasta on my break, so I'll give it a miss."

"Well if you change your mind then just help yourself, especially round about the 3am slump." Will took a biscuit for himself, crunching on it as he leaned his head back and peered once again at Elizabeth's monitors. "She seems to be doing a lot of the work herself, breathing wise, I mean."

There was a nod. "She's doing well."

"Is there a plan in place for exubation the morning?" When he saw nurse's eyebrow quirk, he added, "I'm a trauma surgeon across at Walter Reed."

"Ah." She gave a nod, that explained his constant perusal of the monitors and his ease in the ward; it wasn't what she expected from relatives, her husband's tense frame and awkward silences were much more in line with that. "There will be an anaesthetic and surgical review in the morning round, they'll assess how she's been overnight and decide then how best to proceed."

"Ok." Will nodded thoughtfully, his fingers tapping against the magazine. "You know, it's odd to be sitting on this side of things. I'm trying not run everything through my head like it's one of my cases at work." Shifting, he rubbed his finger against the bridge of his nose. "Although I'm not sure it's working all that well."

"Let me guess, you already have a plan of action in your head?"

Will held his fingers an inch apart. "Little bit," he admitted guiltily. "But I promise not to write it down for them." A sly smile pulled at his lips at his words, no consultant liked to be needled and prodded by another.

She gave a small snort, shaking her head at him. "Why am I not convinced by you?"

"Because you've probably met so many of us that you know exactly what we're like. Territorial." His grin widened. "Anyway, I won't need to leave notes, I plan to be here to annoy them in person."

"I shall warn the dayshift nurse," she teased, then looked up towards the monitors she tapped her pen once, twice against her desk. "Although, lets face it, they would all do the same in this situation."

"Of course they would." He gave a slight, humourless smile, his head tilting back so he was glancing at the ceiling. "But I have to admit, being able to run the numbers, knowing what all of this is," his hand gestured across the expanse of medical equipment. "That it makes all of this that little bit easier, because when I do that, I can forget that it's my sister in the bed."

"One of the benefits of our training," the nurse mused. "The ability to detach yourself in an emergency." She placed her pen down, leaning forward on her elbows, one foot balanced on the bar along the bottom of the table, the other anchoring it's wheels in place by resting on the floor. "Are you close?"

"I think so, Lizzie would probably say otherwise." Will caught sight of the expression of surprise on her face and gave a chuckle. "Not because she dislikes me, but because I have…had a tendency to go off grid for long spells." He looked over at the bed and smiled, reaching out to rest his hand over his sister's. "But she was always there, graduations, birthday's and Christmas. And when I stopped turning up for the latter or was deployed abroad, she was always just at the other end of a phone when I needed her. Ready to jump if I ever asked." His fingers curved around Lizzie's, giving them a soft squeeze. "She was the dependable one out of us, always was. She would tell you she had to be, but even before that, she was the same." He looked up at her still expression, remembering every bickering conversation they'd had, the exasperation with him she could never quite conceal. "She'd call me irresponsible, accuse me of running away, tell me that I was taking the easy way out." His smile widened. "Not at every phone call, but in a fair few, and she wasn't wrong." He tapped his fingers against hers, his next words addressed to Lizzie. "Although if you remember a word of this then I will of course be denying it all and blaming it on ICU psychosis."

"I'm not sure you'll get away with that," the nurse warned him, a note of humour in her tone before she turned serious. "So, what made you run away?"

"It was easier. It was just the two of us left and Lizzie's answer to that was to pull me closer, or at least she tried to. I had the opposite reaction and pulled away…" He broke off and shook his head, aware that he was beginning to voice thoughts that he'd spent the last thirty four years trying to block out. "Sorry, I shouldn't be boring you with this."

"It's not boring."

"Nice of you to say, but family issues are always boring." He shot her a polite smile, his tongue had run away with him; the tiredness must be taking it's toll on him, he decided. He pulled his hand slowly away from Lizzie's and holding up his magazine, he told the nurse lightly, "Much more interesting to read about celebrity scandals."

She gave him another smile and sensing his sudden discomfort and picking up on his cues, she picked up her pen and went back to her paperwork.

Will stared back down at his magazine, dwelling on his words. For Lizzie, her family was everything and she pulled them close to her, fearful of losing anyone again. He had feared the same, but his reaction was to not let anyone in. They were the two side of the same coin.

It was just like he had told Sophie; he had thought he would go first; he'd been prepared for it and the thought of dying didn't frighten him. It was only now he might be the one left standing that he regretted turning down all the invitations to the various family events that Lizzie had pleaded with him to turn up to. It was only now he realised that shunning these things hadn't made him less vulnerable, just gave him more regrets. If she pulled through this, then he would turn up to anything she wanted to badger him into, he decided firmly.

* * *

It was the burning ache in his right hip that woke Henry, and he gave a groan as he opened his eyes, thrown off balance by his unfamiliar surroundings, by the warm stuffiness of the room's air. For a blissful three seconds, confusion reigned, and the events of the day were nothing but a brief nagging sensation on the periphery of his mind as he glanced around the chapel. His eyes rested on the dimly lit cross and it all rushed back to him with a sickening lurch. It felt like it should all have been just a surreal dream, that he should have been waking up in his own bed, with Elizabeth curled up next to him. Instead he found himself curled up on a hard chapel pew, alone.

Blinking, he shifted as he realised that the edge of his watch was digging into his cheek and winced at the dull, nagging pull in his neck. He'd fallen asleep upright, he remembered belatedly, before shifting to try and make himself slightly more comfortable. Clearly that hadn't worked for long.

Henry pulled himself into a seated position, his hip screaming at him as he moved. He rubbed his cheek and could feel the indented line pressed into the skin of his cheek from his watch. Looking down at the offending item, Henry's stomach rolled, and he felt a jolt of panic when he saw it was almost half past one in the morning. He'd been asleep for almost three hours. Digging his hand into his jacket, he pulled out his phone, noting in dismay that it was out of battery.

Panic forced him onto his feet, and he lurched unsteadily, rushing from the room, his shoes skidding and squealing on the linoleum as he took the corner coming out of the chapel too quickly. The pain in his hip and the ache in his neck were forgotten, numbed by fear and adrenaline. Anything could have happened to Elizabeth and Will wouldn't have known where to find him. His heart pounded in his chest as he fought to remember just how the corridors weaved and what direction to take. The chill in the hospital corridor, caused him to shiver, for the flesh of his arms to goose-pimple. His teeth were set on edge from both the cold and from the tendrils of fear that had crept around his chest, squeezing it tightly.

When he got to the unit, the wait for the ward entrance to unlock felt like an age. The ward was quiet, cocooned in darkness other than the glow of the machines at each bed. He was breathless by the time he got to the door of Elizabeth's room, slumping in the frame when he saw that she was just how he left her, relief flooding through him.

Will barely looked up from where he was lounged across a chair, a blanket draped around his shoulders and a magazine open across his lap. "Fall asleep?" he asked calmly.

"Yeah." Henry carded his hands through his hair, the tightness in his chest starting to slowly ease

"Then wake up, realise how long you'd been away and panic," he stated, his eyes returning to his reading material.

"And for good measure also discovered that my mobile is out of battery," Henry admitted.

"Ah." Will's nose wrinkled slightly guiltily. "I should have said, the kids packed your charger." He gestured towards the holdall. He looked up again, his gaze flickering over Henry. "You feel any better for your sleep?"

Henry mused over that question, his head felt less leaden, but other than that he felt much the same, mired in the same despair he felt before he left. "Little bit," he mumbled non-committedly. He winced as his hip gave a sharp tug when he went to sit back down. "How is she?"

"No change, just like I promised." Will took a sip of water. "I on the other hand have suddenly became aware that you came third place in TMI'S Arm Candy US government edition." He grinned across at him, his eyes twinkling in unrestrained delight. "My belated congratulations, if I'd known sooner, I would have sent a card."

Unable to smother a smile in response, Henry remarked, "I wouldn't have thought your interest lay in gossip rags." His hand ran over Elizabeth's as he spoke, as though checking that she wasn't just a mirage in front of him.

"Well when the choice was between that or Summa Theologica, it seemed the lesser of two evils. Do you and my sister ever indulge in any light reading? Or does it always have to be something meaningful and dreadfully dull?"

"I was re-reading it to pull out some points for my next book."

"Hmm." Will gave a nod as he looked back down at his magazine, muttering, "Dreadfully dull it is then."

Henry resisted the urge to roll his eyes at his brother in law. "So, nothing happened while I was away?"

"I did eat all the Oreos, but in my defence, you were gone for hours and my sugar levels drop when I'm tired. So that was really born out of necessity." When he heard Henry's long-suffering sigh, he added, "Sorry, thought you meant with me. Because, like I told you," He met Henry's gaze meaningfully, each word a short staccato, "Lizzie. Is. Fine."

Henry sank back slightly in his chair, his hand still grasping Elizabeth's his thumb running over her wedding band, where he could feel the slight residue from the surgical tape they'd placed over it whilst she is in theatre. "Sorry, I just panicked, I didn't mean to be away for so long. I was worried something had happened and you hadn't been able to find me."

Thumbing across to the next page in his magazine, Will remarked, "Family room is only in the corridor."

"That's not where I went."

"Chapel?"

"Yeah." A frown crumpled Henry's features. "But how did you guess?"

Will held up on hand, a finger jumping up at each point he made. "Um, Catholic. Religion and ethics professor. Obsessed with churches. Also, you feel guilty and you want absolution for that. Really the chapel is the obvious choice." He glanced up at him. "If it were the other way round, I would have found Lizzie in the canteen, guarantee it."

Henry managed another smile. "She's much better at all nighters than I am."

"That'll be the sugar and caffeine." Will yawned as he spoke, stretching his arms up and back.

"What time you taking Annie to school?"

"Thought I'd leave here about seven, get home for about half past and then I can have breakfast with her. Be back here for the morning round."

"Then why don't you go home now and get some sleep?"

Will looked across at him, giving a slow shake if his head. "Said I'd stay with you."

"You need some sleep as well."

"Can get that in the relatives room."

"It won't be the same." He looked at Elizabeth and swallowed back the lump in his throat, his voice slightly raspier at his next words. "You said yourself that she's fine. So go and get some proper rest."

Will looked thoughtful. "It's tempting," he admitted. "But won't you miss my shining company?"

Henry have a soft snort. "I'll cope."

His lips twisted as he considered the offer, realistically it made sense. Once again, he looked up at the monitors to see the same numbers staring back at him as before. "Are you sure?"

"Absolutely."

"Ok, well let me get you a coffee first."

"You're going to bankrupt yourself at those coffee machines."

Will swung his legs back to the floor, shrugging the blanket from his shoulders. "Actually, I can go one better, turns out there's a twenty-four-hour coffee cart in the canteen. So, you can have a real coffee."

The sound of the nurse's chair scraping against the floor, interrupted them. "We're due for another turn and to top up some of the syringes again, so that sounds like perfect timing."

Henry hesitated, he'd only just got back to Elizabeth and he was loathed to leave her again. It was Will's hand tapping against the top of his arm that caught his attention. He gestured with his head encouragingly towards the door. "C'mon, this stuff needs done."

His lips drew momentarily into a thin line. "Ok, but bring your things with you and I'll arrange a car for you."

"Done."

* * *

Ellie pressed the pillow against her, fluffing it before she pushed it into Elizabeth's back. "Ok, I'll watch the tube, you can roll her back now."

Niamh slowly let go of Elizabeth's shoulders and hips, letting her sink back onto the folded pillow, her thin fingers moving a strand of blonde hair gently off Elizabeth's cheek. She began to pull the sheets back across her, lifting Elizabeth's arms so they could rest on the outside.

During this Ellie leaned across the bed, unhooking the tubing from it's metal holder and swinging both gently across to the other side so that it didn't obscure Elizabeth's face, before clipping it securely back into place.

Niamh glanced up at the monitor, her lips pursing thoughtfully. "Did you give her an O2 boost before we turned?"

"Course I did." Ellie followed her colleagues gaze to the monitor, her mouth rounding slightly in surprise. "Sats have dropped to 95%." She craned her neck to look at the ventilator. "Tidal volumes are down slightly and so are her spont breaths."

Niamh turned Elizabeth's wrist outwards so her arterial line didn't press into her skin. "She might just be tired. She's been doing most of it for herself."

"True."

"What are her parameters for oxygen?"

"Aim for sats of above 96%, can titrate oxygen between 30-50%, if her requirements go up any further than that then get blood gasses."

"She's only at the 30, maybe put her to 40 and see if that helps. She's still well within the range they want."

"Yeah." Ellie leaned across the ventilator and turned unlocking the screen, turned the oxygen setting up. "I've drawn up the propofol, can you check and sign for it?" she asked as she reached for the stethoscope dangling from the IV stand.

"Sure." Niamh whistled tunelessly under her breath as she twirled the glass bottle underneath her fingers, checking the date and batch number against the bright yellow label that had been attached to the filled syringe. Signing her initials on the label and on the prescription chart, she looked up to see Ellie frowning, slowly edging the stethoscope out of her ears. "Problem?"

"Left side sounds a bit quieter."

Niamh gestured for the stethoscope and adjusted it into her ears before leaning across, and sliding it across Elizabeth's chest, listening to both sides. Straightening, she said, "Both sides audible, but lower left might be a bit duller."

"Rest of her obs are ok. Heart rate's up very slightly, but only from 65 to 76." Ellie tapped her fingers against the table. "She didn't get furosemide in between her units of blood; she could be slightly overloaded."

"That sounds the most likely, I'll page, get someone to write her up for some." She hung the stethoscope back over the stand and turned to see that Ellie was still watching the monitors with a frown on her face. "You don't look convinced."

Ellie shook her head and then sighed. "It's nothing. You're probably right." She ran her finger down a column of numbers. "Her fluid input is definitely higher than her output, she's probably in a bit of fluid overload, it's making her work harder and she's getting tired."

"It's easily fixed. Any changes and let me know, we can call for a review."

Her lips pulled thin, her eyes scanning the numbers again as she ran through multiple scenarios in her head and then discarded each of them for now. She was stable, she told herself again. Everything was in the normal range. Ellie rubbed her eyes, night shift was playing tricks on her, she picked up the syringe of propofol and set herself back to work.

* * *

Henry and Will walked along the long corridors towards the entrance. Henry flexed his cold fingers against the warmth of his coffee cup, feeling it ease the ache in his joints. He took the smallest sip of the scalding liquid, feeling it sear and catch at the back of his throat.

Will gave a sigh. "You sure you don't mind me going?"

"I'm positive," Henry told him. "You have Annie to entertain in," he checked his watch, "about five short hours."

Will gave a snicker. "I was planning on letting her have her chocolate cereal. I've discovered that a lot of parenting is just doing whatever it takes to get through the day."

"How does Sophie feel about that?"

His head tilted one way and then the next as he thought through his response. "Depends on the day...and if she catches me out." He zipped up his jacket as they got closer to the entrance. "You know, I don't think I appreciated just how easy you and Lizzie made parenting look."

Henry shot him an incredulous look. "You can't have been paying much attention." He let out a bark of laughter. "When Stevie was born we didn't have a clue what to do, sometimes we just used to look at her in panic. And I hate to tell you, it just gets harder as they get older." He gave a shake of his head. "You won't be able to bribe her with chocolate cereal soon."

Will gave a pained sigh. "Better make the most of it while I can then."

"The both of you just muddle on through." He took another sip of coffee. "At least that's what we did."

Will's lips pulled tight, his eyes narrowing as he stared ahead of himself before he admitted, "Sophie and I don't always see eye to eye on a lot of this parenting stuff. I wasn't involved for so long, not properly, she has all her ways of dealing with Annie and they all work; for her."

"They don't for you?"

"Sometimes. Feel like a bit of a heel even saying this. Sophie has been amazing today and I am lucky to have her, she's put up with a lot." He scuffed his shoe against the floor, his pace slowing as they neared the automatic door, a hand running through his hair. "Everything that's happened today, it's made me think about how I've been living my life." He sucked in a breath between teeth. "But you don't need to hear about that."

"Look man, I get it." Henry replied. "I've done nothing but second guess every decision that might have got us to here."

"I had noticed. But there's one big difference."

Henry looked at him, a shadow of confusion across his eyes. "What's that?"

"I don't always make Sophie happy and I can see it. You make Lizzie ecstatic, you always have and she had the confidence to live her life exactly the way she wanted to." He chewed on the inside of his cheek, mulling over his next words. "When I say you shouldn't feel guilty, I mean it because I don't think there could have been anyone else on this earth who could have made her happier." He clapped Henry on his arm. "Anyway, I suppose I should get home and you should get back to her."

As he turned to leave, Henry called him back. "Will, you have time and if the bones are good, then you can fix anything."

"I'll keep it in mind." He lifted his hand in a small wave. "I'll see you in the morning. Oh and try the magazines, some of those stories are mind-boggling."


	20. Chapter 20

Henry was surprised to find that the nurse was standing by Elizabeth's bedside when he returned, a syringe in one hand and the line attached to Elizabeth's neck in the other. "Everything alright, Ellie?" he asked, a cold prickle crawling up the nape of his neck, the hairs on his forearms standing on end.

She looked up, her face calm, impassive. "It's fine, just some extra medication."

Despite the softness of her tone, Henry couldn't help but feel a sense of unease. His gaze drifted to Elizabeth, trying to reassure himself with the fact that she looked the same as she had before he left. Although considering how unwell she was, it wasn't much of a comfort. "What's it for?"

"When we have to give a large volume of blood over a short time, we often give a drug known as a diuretic alongside it. It helps prevent against a side effect where the circulatory and breathing systems are overloaded from the extra volume of fluid from the blood transfusion." She gave him a small, reassuring smile, "It's normal for us to make the decision to give this medication."

Henry chewed his lower lip for a second, unsure if he wanted to know the answer to his next question. "Is Elizabeth suffering from those side effects?"

She mulled over her next words before she answered, "We can't calculate exactly how much fluid Elizabeth lost today, although we have an estimate. But even with that estimate our charts show that because of the amount of blood and fluid we've given to treat her, her fluid input is quite a bit higher than her output. We don't think she's having a reaction but she's working a little bit harder than she had to before, so we want to be cautious."

His grip tightened on his coffee cup. "What do you mean she's working harder?"

"She's needing a little bit more oxygen and she's letting the ventilator do a little bit more of the work."

"That sounds like she's worse." Henry could hear the panic in his own voice, the sharp edge of fear creeping in. To him Elizabeth looked no different, and the numbers on the screens were just that; they meant nothing to him.

"She's still stable." Ellie's voice remained calm, level. "This is precautionary."

Henry swallowed against the lump in his throat. "And if it doesn't work?"

"If things stay as they are just now, we wouldn't be worried. If she needs more support, then we have certain criteria where we would ask the medical staff for an early review." Her smile turned encouraging, "But we're not there yet."

Biting down on the inside of his cheek, Henry frowned. "So, she's still stable?" he clarified.

"She is."

Henry tried to make himself relax, but his shoulders stayed stiff, his neck muscles tense. "Ok." He gave a short shake of his head, his hand running through his hair. "I'm sorry if I sound a bit…sharp, I just…this is all…"

"Worrying and upsetting?" Ellie supplied for him.

His lips gave a brief twist. "Yeah, you could say that." He watched as she switched the syringe for one filled with saline, flushing the line clear, before twisting it away, her fingers deftly clamping that part of the line shut.

He placed his coffee cup on the bedside locker, now unable to stomach the thought of another sip, and gave a shaky sigh. Ellie nodded her head towards it. "You might want to finish that. The next few hours are going to drag, the perils of an all-nighter."

"It already feels like the longest night ever," Henry remarked, as he stepped closer to his wife's bed, his hand resting on her head, stroking her forehead with his thumb. His fingers trembled as he spoke, "Maybe I shouldn't have sent Will home."

"You all need some rest, there would have been nothing for him to do here. It was a good decision," she reassured him.

"But now she's worse."

"This is a precaution," Ellie reminded him. "And anyway, none of us have the ability to predict the future, you made the decision based on what you knew at the time."

Henry watched the rhythmic rise and fall of Elizabeth's chest, her skin warm underneath his touch. "I seem to be getting a lot of those decisions wrong today," he muttered.

Ellie had removed her gloves, turning the tap at the sink on with her elbow, her silence almost considered. The splashing of the water on the porcelain sink almost drowned out the quiet whoosh of the ventilator. There was click from the soap dispenser and as her fingers twisted together, gliding over her palms and wrists, she finally spoke. "You know very few people who end up in here start the day thinking that this is how it will end. The exception to the rule being our planned post-operative patients." She rinsed her hands, shaking the excess water back into the sink before grabbing a paper towel. "Their families are never prepared for it either. But," she threw the paper towel into the bin, the lid closing with a clunk. "There's always guilt, always questions about what they could have done to change the outcome. The answer to that is that there isn't anything they could have done. It was a cascade of decisions and chance or in some cases just sheer dumb bad luck. It's human nature to want to place blame, to find a fault in ourselves and our actions." She shrugged. "But sometimes life isn't fair and it doesn't make sense."

"So, you think I should stop trying to look for reason in this?"

"Pretty much, you won't find it. The important thing is that you're here with her, is there anything else she'd want right now than you sitting with her? Holding her hand?"

Henry considered her words. "No," he admitted after a moment. Elizabeth would want him with her, that he had no doubt about.

"Then for tonight, just focus on that."

He nodded, his hand moving from Elizabeth's head as he slowly sat down in his chair and reached for her hand again. His fingers brushed across the back of her hand before sliding underneath her palm, lifting it from the bed, pressing a kiss to her knuckles and giving another silent prayer that she was going to come back to him and that he could make all of this up to her.

* * *

Stevie woke up and was suddenly aware of the quiet sound of singing. Why was there singing? While light was flickering in, seeping underneath her still closed eyelids. She gave a soft groan and buried her face further into her pillow for a brief second as she slowly adjusted to her surroundings. It was the TV, she was in the family room, she reminded herself.

Blinking her eyes slowly open, she tilted her head back towards the TV to see characters dancing across the screen. She rolled quietly onto her side and reached for her phone to see that Jareth had sent her a text message.

_At the airport, flight leaves in two hours._

_See you soon._

Stevie stifled another groan, her fingers running through her hair, her fingers curling into the strands and the heel of her hand pressing against her forehead. She felt sick, her stomach churning at the thought of seeing him later, at the thought of having to make conversation. It wasn't good that this was her reaction to her fiancé's decision to come home and support her, she knew that. She lifted her phone again, typing out the beginning of a reply and discarding it, repeating this four times before she let her arm drop; giving a large sigh and letting her phone fall to the side.

"Jareth?"

Stevie twisted at the quiet whisper of her sister's voice to find that Alison was lying on her stomach, her arms folded over her pillow, her fingers picking at the packet of sweets they had hauled out of the cupboard earlier. "Yeah, how did you guess?"

Alison shrugged, looking away from the TV and rolling to face Stevie, her voice low. "Easy guess, that seems to be your new Jareth face." She popped a sweet into her mouth and chewed thoughtfully. "I preferred the old one."

There was a yawn from the third makeshift bed, Jason's arms stretching up into the darkness of the room. "I dunno, it was very lovesick puppy dog," he remarked. "Made me want to vomit a little bit."

Giving a snort, Alison told him, "Considering the dopey look you get on your face when anyone mentions Piper, you have a cheek."

"I get no such look."

Stevie sighed and rolled her eyes. "You guys, I really don't want to talk about this right now."

"You sure? Now is your chance to vent," Alison offered.

"Or you know," Jason shrugged. "Text him and tell him not to bother getting on that flight."

"Jason!" Stevie gasped indignantly. "I'm not going to say that to him!"

There was a rustling of covers. "Why? You don't want him here."

Stevie chewed on her bottom lip, if it was obvious to her fifteen-year-old brother then that really wasn't a good sign. "It's not that I don't want him here," she started carefully. "It's just…" she tailed off, unable to find another explanation for her feelings. She let out a huff of air. "You're too young to get it," she finally told him after a prolonged silence.

He gave a snort at that. "Right, if you say so."

In the dancing light emanating from the TV, Stevie could see her brother folding his arms across himself and decided that it was best to just change the subject. "Have either of you had any sleep?"

Alison shook her head, reaching for another sweet. "Nope. You passed out partway through Aladdin, I'm not sure when Jason fell asleep."

"I didn't."

Alison shot a curious glance across at her brother. "You've been awake this whole time? And you let me put Mama Mia on?"

He gave a shrug. "I wasn't that bothered." He chose not to mention that he'd heard her crying and sniffling into her pillow and decided that anything was better than listening to his sister cry.

"Maybe he secretly likes it," Stevie teased.

The pillow sailed through the air, landing straight on her face with a muffled thud. "I don't like it," Jason told them. "I just know it's Ali's go to cheer up movie. So, I thought I'd let her watch it."

"Aw, Jase, that's really quite sweet of you," Alison replied.

"Don't go on about it," he groaned. "It's just like when we let Mom watch infomercials when she gets stressed. Sometimes it's easier to sit through those than deal with the alternative."

Stevie reached her hand across to tickle her brother's shoulder. "I think you're just a big softie hiding under a layer of government conspiracies and anarchism."

"Why couldn't I have had brothers?" Jason groaned, ducking out of the way of his sister's hand.

"I often wonder why Mom and Dad couldn't stop at two," Alison teased him.

"Saving the best for last," he shot back, pulling himself into a sitting position and crossing his legs, leaning back against the sofa. "What time is it anyway?"

"Almost 2am," Stevie told him, yawning as she did so.

"You heard anything from Dad?" Alison asked her.

"Nope," she shook her head. "But I figure no news is good news." She glanced across at her sister. "Right?"

"Probably," Alison conceded, sighing, and reaching for another sweet. She nudged the packet towards her siblings. "Want one?"

Jason leaned forward, grabbing a small handful, and cramming them into his mouth.

Stevie watched her brother and pointed out, "Should you both maybe lay of the sugar and try and get some sleep."

"Can't sleep," Alison mumbled.

"Me neither," Jason admitted. "Can't stop thinking about Mom." He looked upwards towards the ceiling, his nose wrinkling in thought. "You ever notice how she never really talks about Gran and Grandad?"

"I don't think she had anyone to talk to about them," Stevie remarked, chewing on the side of her thumbnail as she spoke.

"She had Uncle Will," Jason reminded her.

"I don't think he wanted to talk about it. I've never heard him mention them at all. She probably just got used to not talking about them…or maybe it hurt too much."

There were a few seconds of silence, one…two…and then, "If Mom doesn't wake up…do you think we'll do that, stop talking about her?" Alison asked, her gaze not meeting her older sister's. Instead she ran her fingers across the floor, watching the swirling motion she made, fighting back the tears she could feel starting to build up behind her eyes again. She pulled her face tight, trying not to give into that urge to cry.

Stevie chewed her bottom lip as she considered that question. It would hurt, but it would hurt more not to talk about her, to push her to one side and never mention the gaping hole left in their family. "I think we'll talk about her. In fact," her voice grew stronger, conviction sinking into her tone. "I'll make sure we do."

Despite her best attempt not to, Alison gave a sniff. "I can't believe this is happening to us."

"Me neither," Stevie admitted, twisting her engagement ring round and round on her finger. Her head hurt, a throbbing pain at the side of her temples, not helped by the way she was tensing her jaw muscles, sucking her cheeks in to try and stay calm.

Jason flopped back down onto his air mattress with a heavy sigh. "I wish I'd hugged her this morning," he finally told them, a croaky edge to his voice, his finger scratching absentmindedly at the material to the mattress.

"I didn't hug her either," Stevie told him.

"Yeah, but at least you weren't being a jerk to her."

Alison lifted her head up, her hand pushing back her dark hair when it fell like a sheet over her face. "She's probably used to us being jerks."

"Aw well, that's alright then," Jason remarked, rolling his eyes, wincing when Alison leaned across Stevie and slapped her hand against his shoulder.

"I'm trying to make you feel better," she told him.

"Sorry," he mumbled.

"It's ok." She told him, a second passing before she added. "I don't think you'd feel any better even if you had hugged her. This would still suck."

"It does suck," Jason agreed.

"Well we can all hug her when she wakes up," Stevie told her younger siblings. "And promise her that we'll stop being jerks."

Jason sucked in a breath between his teeth. "And if-"

Stevie didn't let him finish. "Don't. We have to be positive. She's made it this far." She rolled onto her stomach. "Ok then, pass the sweets. If I'm going to listen to Pierce Brosnan murder some Abba, then in the absence of alcohol I'm going to need sugar.

* * *

Ellie hated 3am in the morning, it always seemed the time when the shift seemed endless, stretching ahead with the morning shift still hours away. She stifled a yawn into the sleeve of her cardigan, before shrugging it off, supressing a shiver. That was another thing, it was always freezing at this time of night, or at least she was always cold no matter how many layers she wore.

Grabbing her clipboard, she made for the bed, relieved to see that Dr McCord was now dozing in his chair, his head tilted off to one side, his wife's hand still loosely clutched in his.

She looked up towards the monitor and watched as Elizabeth's saturations flickered between 94% and 95%, she crossed her fingers and then sighed in defeat when they finally settled on the 94%. Typical, she thought. She turned the oxygen up once again.

Her blood pressure was down, but only a little bit and her heart rate was lingering around 85. Her respiratory rate was up slightly now, but the tidal volume was still lower, one positive was at least that hadn't changed. She moved round to the right side of the bed and checked the chest drain. Grabbing the stethoscope, she murmured, "Just going to have a listen to your chest now Elizabeth, this might be a bit cold." Her left side was still quiet. Ellie chewed her lip; she had that slight tug of unease again. She hated 3am she decided, and not for the first time during a night shift.

Jotting down the last of the observations, she made her way to the doorway, beckoning for Maggie, one of the floating nurses to come across. "Everything alright?" Maggie asked her.

"I'm not sure," Ellie admitted quietly. "Can you page for a review? Oxygen requirements are going up, I'm going to take some blood gases."

Maggie glanced over her shoulder into the room. "Of course. You need a hand?"

"I'll need someone to run the bloods to the analyser."

"I'll come back and get them."

Ellie turned, her foot tapping agitatedly against the floor. It wasn't that bad, she told herself again. She ran her hand through her hair, moving to the supplies trolley in the room and gathering up what she needed. The drawers rattled as she closed them and she saw Dr McCord jerk from the noise, his head drawing upright, his eyes looking over to the source of what had woken him up. "Sorry," she offered quietly.

He blinked a few times, his eyes darting between Elizabeth and Ellie. "What is it?"

"I'm going to take some blood from Elizabeth," she told him calmly. "And I've asked the doctor to come up and review her."

He ran his hand across his jaw, his stubble scraping across his palm. "The medication didn't help then?"

"She had a good response to it, so it will have helped, but it's not been enough," Ellie admitted.

"So, what next?" He asked with a pained expression.

"I've paged the doctor to come up and review her and I'm going to take some bloods. Would you like to wait in the relative's room while we do that?"

"No." Henry shook his head. "I'm not leaving her."

"Ok, but I need to you to move back from the bed. It's just that I can get into the line in Elizabeth's wrist."

"Of course." Henry jumped from his seat, stepping back from the bed to let Ellie in, watching her anxiously.

* * *

Dr Lewis Monaghan stifled a yawn as he made his way into the ICU. He had been dreading this page all night and had silently hoped he would get through the shift without being called to this particular patient.

The room was still dully light when he walked in. The Secretary's husband was standing by her bed, holding her hand, and stroking her face. He supressed a sigh, worried relatives made his job worse and it was one of the few benefits of a nightshift that they often weren't present.

Glancing at Ellie, the assigned nurse, he kept his tone low as he asked, "So. What's been happening?"

She gave him a quick look up and down. "Where's Dr Garcia?"

"Poly-trauma in the ER, everyone else is caught up down there. Three car collision."

"Ah."

He was glad she had accepted the explanation without an argument, he was under no allusion that the nursing staff were ever too pleased to see the intern lumbering up to the bedside of their patients. "So…you wanted a review."

"Yeah. Oxygen requirements are up, she was sitting at 98-99% on 30% O2, now she's holding at 95% on 50%. Spontaneous resp rate initially went down around her one-thirty turn, as did her tidal volumes. Resp rate was sixteen, went down to twelve and it's now twenty-four, but tidal volumes are only about two-hundred. BP is down, heart rate is up. Lung sounds are dull on the left hand side. Initially concerned she was in fluid overload, so we gave furosemide. There was a good result from that and she seemed to stabilise for a short time following it, but now." Ellie gave a shrug, she's going back the way."

"She could be sore."

He caught sight of the exasperated look that crossed Ellie's face before she pulled it back into a calm mask. "Doesn't explain her reduced blood pressure or the reduction in tidal volumes," she reminded him gently.

"No." He sighed. "It doesn't."

"And I'm not comfortable giving more morphine and depressing her respiratory system further."

"That's fair."

"We took some blood gases." She pressed the thin, narrow sheet of paper across to him, and not for the first time he wondered why these looked like shopping receipts, they were a nightmare to keep track of in the notes.

"PO2 is a little low, PCO2 is borderline," he murmured to himself. "Any temperature?" He asked Ellie.

"Nope."

"And her chest drain, is it swinging?"

"It is, no excessive bubbling, only minimal on exhalation or suctioning."

He rubbed at his eyes. "Chest drain is on the right side?"

"Yeah, chest sounds on the right side have been slowly improving.

"Secretions on suctioning?"

"Thin and clear."

"Ok," he gave a nod, repeating, "Ok." As he drew out some more time for him to think this all through. He glanced down at her fluid chart. "I think we get a portable chest x-ray up here and if you can take some bloods, CRP, Co-ag, FBC and a blood culture? I'll get the forms done for you."

"Ok. Do you want an anaesthetic review?"

His lips pursed momentarily. "Yeah, yeah I think that's best," he agreed. "I'll request one. Not sure when they'll get here, think they're paging some of the extra on call back in to help." In the meantime, up her to 70%. oxygen" He glanced at her. "That sound ok?"

"Yeah. You getting the chest x-ray as urgent?"

"I will, but they're also down in the ER." He looked back up at the monitors by the bed. "I'll take a listen into her chest before I go. I'll be staying up here for cover, so if anything changes, you just need to shout."

"Oh, I will," Ellie assured him, a smile tugging at her cheek. She gave him a small nudge with her shoulder. "You need to speak to her husband, he's pretty worried."

Lewis could feel the wince that pulled across his features and he resisted the urge to beg Ellie to do it for him. He could feel the tension radiating from the man and he was very aware that he had absolutely no answers for him. Still though, he stepped forward as the man turned towards him and held out his hand. "Dr McCord, I'm Dr Monaghan, I'm the intern on call in the ICU tonight."

The man took the proffered hand. "I thought it was another doctor who was covering?"

"Dr Garcia is also on call tonight but she's with another patient."

He gave a nod, accepting the explanation. "My wife, what's happening?"

Lewis swallowed nervously. "At the moment I can't say for sure. We're going to run some tests. I've arranged for some blood tests and a chest x-ray, those should give us some more insight and then we can come up with a treatment plan. I'm also going to ask anaesthetics to review the settings on the ventilator, make sure that we're best meeting her respiratory needs."

His cheek twitched and the muscles at his jaw flexed. "How long until you know what's causing this?"

"I'm not sure. I'll mark everything as urgent, but I can't give an exact time frame for you. I'm sorry, I know this is frustrating."

His eyes fluttered shut for a minute, his hand coming up to rub at his forehead as he gave a sigh. "I just want to know what's happening to my wife and that you can treat it."

"We will continue to treat her, I just can't tell you the cause yet and how we treat her may change dependant on any results."

"Ok." Henry sighed again. "Ok."

"I'm just going to have a listen to Secretary McCord's chest, is that ok?"

"Of course."

Lewis watched the man step back from the bed, one arm wrapped around himself, clutching the elbow of the opposite arm, his chin resting on that hand, and his fingers pressing against his mouth. His face was pale and pinched as he watched. Lewis listened to both lungs and gave a nod as he stepped back. He walked back over to Ellie. "Yeah, left side is definitely dull," he agreed. "Was there any trauma to that side?"

"None recorded, damage on that side was all to the ventricular apex."

Lewis nodded as looked back over to the bed. He saw Henry McCord lean over his wife, his forehead pressing to hers, could hear him whisper to her. "Come on, Babe, don't do this to me. Please don't do this."

He looked away sharply from the couple. He needed his head to stay clear, he didn't want to feel emotionally attached; that made things worse. He cleared his throat softly to get Ellie's attention. She looked up at him. "I'm just going to go and make those requests," he told her.

She nodded and went back to gathering her supplies. Lewis glanced once more at the couple in the room and despite his warning to himself, he felt a twist in his chest at the husband's obvious distress. He sighed and shook his head, taking himself back to work.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: Just some of the meanings of the terms used in this chapter for anyone who is interested.
> 
> Tidal volumes: The volume of air we take into our lungs.  
> Chest drains should swing, where the fluid rises and falls in time with inhalation and exhalation. If they aren't then that a sign that it could be blocked. If a chest drain is bubbling then there could be a leak, but it's normal for a small amount of bubble to be present if you breathe out or cough.  
> PO2: Basically helps analyse how effective the lungs are at pulling oxygen in. PCO2 is the measure of carbon dioxide in the blood.  
> Bloods: CRP is a marker of inflammation and raises with infection. Co-ag is for coagulation and measures if and how well your blood is clotting.  
> FBC is a full blood count. Blood culture looks for bacteria in your blood.
> 
> Any and all mistakes are mine and if I've got it wrong then please feel free to tell me.


	21. Chapter 21

Henry lets out a shaky breath, his eyes flickering from the monitors and then back to Elizabeth again, wishing he understood what any of the numbers on the various screens mean. It doesn't go unnoticed by him that the main ceiling light has now been switched on, illuminating the room in a harsh glow. He watches as Ellie moves the chair on the opposite side of the bed, pushing it back towards the wall, the legs letting out a harsh whine as they scrape against the floor. She looks up apologetically. "Sorry, just making room for the x-ray machine to get in."

"Of course." He glances behind himself. "I'll move this one."

"Oh, you don't have to. I can get it."

He doesn't pay any attention to her, moving behind the chair to lift it out of the way, before going back to stand next to Elizabeth's bed. He rubs at the back of his neck, feeling worse than useless. All he can do is stand and watch. Panic and dread creep over him, and he feels like someone has wrapped him in a sheet of ice.

Ellie is busy, taking Elizabeth's blood, labelling the containers and handing them across to another staff member. Her movements are methodical, smooth, calm and yet they do nothing to ease Henry's frazzled nerves because he can see how her gaze returns consistently to Elizabeth's monitors every few minutes. He feels like he is in the calm before the storm.

Finally, when he can take the tension no longer, he asks, "How bad is it?"

Ellie looks up at him, her eyes sympathetic. "There's something not quite right," she admits. "But as Dr Monaghan has said, we need more tests to know exactly what it is."

"What do you think it could be?"

"There's a couple of possibilities…" Her brow furrows, her pen twirling between her fingers and she clicks it, in and out, the sound reverberating around the room.

"I want to know what they are," Henry tells her firmly. "You're doing extra tests, what are you looking for?"

She considers her words for a few seconds. "The chest x-ray will show us if Elizabeth is beginning to show any signs of a chest infection, if there are any collections in the lungs-"

"What kind of collection?"

"Normally either blood or air."

Henry bites down on the inside of his bottom lip, barely feeling the pain that the move elicits. "That sounds bad."

"All of them are very treatable," she assures him. "But we need to know just what we're dealing with. These tests will give us a better idea."

"Ok." He looks back down at Elizabeth and he has to lock his knees to stop them from buckling underneath him. She looks so fragile and there is nothing that he can do to help her. His urge is to wrap his arms around her and pull her close to him, but the tubes and lines that are ironically designed to help keep her with him, prevent that. He thinks about telling her to fight this, but he knows that if she has any control in this situation then she's already doing just that.

Elizabeth's blonde hair is fanned across her pillow and he remembers how it had looked that morning. She'd been on her side, facing him, one hand partially tucked under her cheek. There had been a ray of light seeping in from a gap in the curtains, and it had glinted off her hair, making it glow. Her cheeks had been tinged pink and her mouth had been set in the smallest of smiles. She had been so calm, so peaceful that he had resisted the urge to wake her, deciding that she needed her rest more than anything he'd had in mind. Part of him…all of him regrets that now and he wishes that he had woken her, soothed away her initial grumbles with a kiss, held her close and told her just how much he loved her. He knew that she knew he loved her, but how he wished those had been his parting words either in the afternoon, or in the morning. But they weren't. He can't even remember what his last words to her were; he just knows what they weren't.

Elizabeth's hair still shines under the harsh fluorescent lighting of the hospital room, but all that really does now is highlight the pale, sickly waxiness of her skin. How did it come to this? He wonders.

The pad of his thumb traces the edge of her cheekbone, her skin cool underneath his touch and he thinks about how she would have turned into his caress, the way she would have smiled at him, and how he would give every cent they had for her to do that now. She doesn't of course, she stays still and silent, and he feels like his heart is straining against his chest, his stomach churning. "I love you," he finally tells her, hoping that she can hear him. He has held the words back all night, for reasons he can't quite explain, but now they tumble easily from him.

His gaze stays on Elizabeth, afraid to look away from her; even for a second. He is distantly aware of Ellie's keen gaze, that she has returned to her table, and he can hear the scratch of her pen against paper. Henry falls silent again.

He's unsure of how much time has passed, he knows it hasn't been long when there is a loud, sharp, repetitive beep from the monitor, accompanied by a wail from the ventilator. Henry's shoulders jerk at the noise and he takes an instinctive step back from the bed.

Ellie is there almost instantly, she pulls at a red button on the wall and this noise almost drowns out the rest of them, a loud, insistent siren.

Feet thud as staff flood into the room.

"Put out a peri-arrest call," Ellie instructs as she pulls the pillow out smoothly from under Elizabeth's head.

Henry feels a hand at his elbow, guiding him away from the bed with a gentle but firm guide, accompanied by an unknown voice, kind but resolute. "Dr McCord, you need to leave the room."

"Elizabeth…what…the alarms…I can't…" The blare of the alarm cuts through his brain and he can't focus. He is a man who has prided himself on his ability to make coherent and decisive arguments in difficult situations, but now his brain isn't linking up with his mouth and his protests, as nonsensical as they are, are falling on deaf ears.

The hand is now linking under his arm, pulling him back. "They need to get into the bed so they can help her. We need to give them space."

Through the people now crowded at Elizabeth's bed, Henry can just make out her face, the same impassive expression there as before, as though she's completely unaware of the chaos now surrounding her. His voice is firmer this time. "I don't want to leave her."

"You can't stay, come on now."

His argument is futile, and he knows it. He can see them peel away Elizabeth's gown and realises that although he doesn't want to leave, he also doesn't want to watch this. Doesn't want to have these images seared onto the back of his eyelids, so he finally acquiesces to the grip on his arm.

The stares of Elizabeth's DS agents are sympathetic and somehow that just makes it worse, they look at him and then bow their heads.

The ward door is propped open and he feels like he's in slow motion as hospital staff run in, past him and towards her room.

Henry tries again to form words to the woman who is walking with him, her hand patting his arm in what is meant to be a reassuring manner, although nothing could reassure him right now. "What's happening to Elizabeth?"

"She needs some extra help just now."

"They said peri- arrest, what does that mean?"

The woman blinks and he can see the discomfort that flickers across her face, the way she sucks in her bottom lip for a moment. "Why don't we get you into the relative's room." It's a statement of intent rather than a question,

He presses her again. "What's happening?"

"In here," She guides him into the relative's room. She flicks the light switch and the light comes on with a low buzzing noise, flickering once, twice before it settles. "Do you want me to make you hot drink?" She asks him.

Henry blinks incredulously. "No, I want to know what's happening to my wife."

"One of the doctor's will be along when they can, they'll explain-"

Frustration wells in his chest and he interrupts. "I want to know how bad this is! I want to know what is going on!" He snaps. His breath falls in harsh rasps and he can see her jerk back at the venom in his tone. He runs a hand through his hair, his chin dropping to his chest for a moment as he collects what is left of his patience. "I'm sorry," he mumbles after a moment.

"It's ok. You must be terribly upset." Her head tilts, her mouth twists sympathetically. "But I'm not the best person to explain any of this to you."

"You're the only one here," Henry points out. He takes another deep breath. "Is it bad?"

There is a moment of silence and he can see her thinking over her words. "She's very unwell just now," she finally tells him. "But the team will do everything they can."

He expects to feel the bottom fall out of his world, but it doesn't. In some ways that would be easier. Instead he just feels numb, and if anything it makes him feel worse. He needs to call Will and the kids and the thought makes him feel dizzy, nauseous.

She speaks again. "Would you like me to wait with you?"

He shakes his head. "No, it's ok."

"Would you like me to bring anything to you?" He gives another shake of his head. He feels her staring at him for a moment before she gives a small nod. "Alright then, well someone will be in when they can."

Henry gives a nod.

Her shoes are quiet on the floor when she turns to leave and the door falls closed behind her with a quiet click.

He waits a minute, breathing in and out, trying to collect his thoughts, the light is still buzzing in the background. A minute, maybe two and he finally reaches into his pocket for his phone.

* * *

Despite that feeling of uneasiness that had niggled at the back of Ellie's head over the last hour or so, she hadn't expected the sudden wail of the alarms. After all she had seen similar situations before and as all the right decisions had been made, she had assumed that it was just nightshift paranoia that had left her with that lingering discomfort.

When the first beeps sounded from the monitor, she had frowned to see that both heart rate and BP were flashing at her. The ventilator followed them, binging its unhappiness at her.

Heart rate was up, one twenty and climbing in every flash, BP had suddenly plummeted and her oxygen saturations were copying that downward trend.

Ellie was on her feet in seconds. The pattern on the arterial line was something she had only ever seen in textbooks or slides. She pulled the emergency buzzer. There was too much happening too quickly, and she knew that this was heading in one direction.

She sees the first of her colleagues run in. "Put out a peri-arrest," she tells them as she pulls the pillow out from under Elizabeth's head. She reaches behind for the ambu-bag, turning the oxygen pipe it was attached to as high as it would go.

Out of the corner of her eye, Ellie can see Henry McCord being pulled away, can see the look of pained horror that is etching into his features. She looks away, not the time, her attention is needed here. "Can we get the pads on her?" she asks. Her fingers fumble ever so slightly as she tries to disconnect the ventilator from the ET tube. Attaching the bag instead.

She sees Niamh nod at her request, can hear the trundle of the crash cart as it's rolled into the room. The emergency alarm has been turned off now, but the monitor continues it steady, urgent beeping. Niamh peels back the hospital gown, folding it at Elizabeth's waist, placing the de-fib pads on. Ellie hopes they won't be needed.

* * *

Lewis runs into the room, past the auxiliary who is leading the husband from the room. He twists sideways to get past them at the door.

"What do we have?"

"Heart rate is climbing, we're now at one-sixty," Ellie told him. "BP is crashing." She pauses briefly, "The arterial line looks like it's showing pulsus pardadoxus. I'm bagging on 100% oxygen but there's resistance on bagging and her sats are barely at 85%."

"Right." He looks at the flashing numbers. Glances around the room and realises that until the crash team arrives, he's in charge. Sweat prickles at his forehead and the nape of his neck. "I'm going to listen to her chest." He swings the stethoscope from around his neck, glad that his hands aren't trembling. "Can we silence the monitors for a moment, please." He sucks his lower lip in between his teeth when he realises that there are now no lung sounds on her left-hand side. Swallowing back against the lump in his throat, he realises just what he's dealing with and now he's up close, he can see that the veins in her neck are beginning to distend. "I think we have a tension pneumothorax," he announces.

"Heart-rate's up to two-hundred."

He can't wait for the rest of the team. They're probably only minutes away at most, but he's very aware that at this point in time Elizabeth McCord doesn't have those minutes to spare. "Ok, can I get a sixteen-gauge needle and an alcohol swab please." He takes in a large breath as someone hands them to him. He feels from her clavicle, fingers palpating down, finding the second inter-costal space. Another breath and he wipes the area with the swab. "Pause bagging," he instructs. He visualises a line on her chest. Another breath and he stabs downward at ninety degrees, piercing the skin, a hiss of air greeting him. "Bag," he tells Ellie.

The monitors continue to flash, but the relief he expects to feel doesn't come. Her heart rate is still climbing, her oxygen falling. "There's still resistance," Ellie informs him, shaking her head, her lips pulled so thin that the edges of them are turning white.

His palms are sweating underneath his gloves. "Ok, I…I…need a thoracostomy set. Can we prep that please?"

The words are no sooner out his mouth then the monitor lets out a low whine. He sees Maggie frown, leaning across to press her fingertips to the pulse point in Elizabeth's neck. "We've lost output, we're in PEA. Starting chest compressions.

Her fingers fold over each other on top of Elizabeth's chest, pressing down in a series of rapid compressions and he can hear her counting underneath her breath.

He's saved from making another decision by the arrival of the crash team. The head anaesthetist pulling on his gloves at the door as he barks out. "What have we got?"

"Gunshot to the chest approximately 15 hours ago, surgery to repair damage to left lung, drain the pericardium and repair damage to left and right ventricles. Initially recovery uneventful. About half an hour ago, we noticed mild tanchycardia and dullness to the left side along with increasing oxygen requirement. While waiting for the chest x-ray we had a sudden onset tachycardia, hypotension and a drop in sats. Pulsus paradoxus seen on the monitor and resistance when bagging. No lung sounds on the left and neck veins are distended. Air present on needle decompression but it's failed. She's in PEA and we've just started chest compressions. I've asked for a thoracostomy set."

"Alright, any epinephrine given?"

"None yet."

"Ok." The anaesthetist folds his arms across himself as he takes his place at the bottom of the bed, surveying the proceedings and taking immediate charge. He points to one person at a time, reeling off what he wants them to do. "Give one milligram epinephrine. Get blood gases. Prep for finger thoracostomy." He meets Lewis' gaze. "You done one of these before?"

"Yeah, but not during an arrest," he admits.

"You happy to do it now?"

Lewis wants to shake his head, to say no, but he knows he can't, knows he needs to step up. "Of course."

"Good." He waves his hand, sending Lewis to the nurse who is setting up the trolley with enviable speed.

He positions himself at the side of Elizabeth, her skin is dyed orange from the layer of iodine that has been liberally applied in preparation. One of the arrest team positions herself at his right-hand side.

Suddenly there is a loud cracking and he sees Maggie falter in her compressions, a wince crossing her face. "I think I broke a rib."

"Keep going," the anaesthetist tells her. "If we don't get her back then it's the least of her worries. Ease back slightly though, I'd prefer not have a flail chest to deal with."

The compressions restart and Lewis grimaces at the sound of the broken rib scraping and crunching at each one. "I'm ready to start," He announces.

"Ok, pause compressions and bagging."

The nurse next to him, simultaneously lifts Elizabeth's arm above her head, giving him the access he needs. He counts down to the fifth intercostal space. He pauses for a brief second, steadying his hand before he makes the incision with his scalpel. His finger presses into the wound until he can feel the fourth and fifth rib. "Kelly clamp." They're placed into his hand and he widens the cut slightly, before advancing them forward, in between the ribs.

"Bit more pressure," the anaesthetist tells him.

Lewis nods. Cold sweat is breaking out across his back, but he presses firmly with the clamp, wriggling it until he feels the pleural wall puncture. He pulls the kellys back and presses his finger back in, checking he is where he should be. "I'm in," he tells them. He can hear the rush of air and a small gush of blood trickles over his hand and onto the white sheet.

"Good. Now retreat. Recommence bagging and check for output."

"Still no pulse and still in PEA," someone called out.

"Ok, recommence compressions and give another one of epinephrine." He leaned slightly towards Lewis, who's shoulders have deflated. "You did a good job, but it's not always enough on its own to restore spontaneous circulation."

Lewis nodded. He can see the sheen of sweat on Maggie's forehead as she presses quickly down on the chest.

A cycle passes quickly. "Off the chest for a rhythm check." He sees Maggie's arms shaking as she leans up and off Elizabeth's chest. "Can someone else take over chest compression if needed please."

The mechanical voice sounds from the defibrillator, _Ventricular Fibrillation, charge 180, charging…press shock."_

"Everyone stand clear." He nods to the nurse at defibrillator and she nods back, holding down the large orange button. The machine sounds again. _Stand clear, shocking…_ Elizabeth gives a small twitch on the bed. _Shock delivered, recommence CPR._

"Check output please."

"Still nothing," someone calls out.

"Go for another cycle, someone draw up more epinephrine. And someone else run another set of gases."

The room is becoming overly warm, but the team moves seamlessly, or at least that's how it appears to Lewis. He wipes his forehead with the back of his arm before stepping forward to take the set of blood gasses out of the arterial line. His fingers fumble on the catch and he swears under his breath as blood oozes up and over the line, soaking into the sheet in a bright red splotch. He looks up to give Ellie an apologetic glance, but she's too busy bagging to pay any attention, and when he sees the rest of the bedding, he realises she's not going to care about the mark his carelessness has left.

He's at the door to the room, ready to sprint to the analyser, when he hears the low monotone of the defibrillator once again. _Ventricular Fibrillation, charge 200…press shock. Stand clear, shocking…_

There's the dull thud as it delivers another pulse of electricity and the last thing Lewis hears as he races down the ward is, _Shock delivered…_


	22. Chapter 22

**Time line overlaps between some sections in this chapter.**

* * *

The night sky is pitch black, so when Henry looks out the hospital window all he can see is his own blurred form and the room he is standing in reflected back at him. His phone is in his hand and his thumb hovers over Will's number. He knows he needs to call him, but his brain is struggling to find the words he should use. He encouraged him to go home and now look where they are. He pinches the bridge of his nose, it might not have made a difference even if Will had stayed, but then that was part of the problem, he just couldn't be sure.

The room is almost oppressively silent other than the ticking of the wall clock, and the sound of it reverberates around Henry's head. He can't stop thinking about Elizabeth; his heart feels like it's sitting in his throat, and with every tick of that damn clock he wonders if this is the moment he's lost her.

Another tick and he lets out a large huff of breath, hitting the call button and bringing his phone to his ear. It rings four times and with each ring, Henry feels worse. When Will answers his voice is heavy with sleep, but even so it has a sharp, worried tone to it, "Henry, what is it?"

"You need to come back in, it's Elizabeth…something's happened"

There's a rustle of covers. "What's happened?"

"I don't know exactly." Henry runs his hand through his hair. "They were running some tests, then all these alarms sounded. They said it was a peri-arrest."

He can hear Will's sharp inhale. "I'm on my way."

Henry taps his foot against the floor. "Will, should I phone the kids?"

There is a brief moment of hesitation and then a heavy sigh. "Yeah, yeah you probably should. I won't be long."

The call cuts at that and Henry's face sinks into his hands at the thought of calling their kids to haul them back in here. He feels like he should be crying, should be inconsolable, but he feels like he is suspended motion. None of this feels real to him.

Still, he can't help but notice that his hands are trembling now as he brings up Stevie's number, wondering how they hell he got to here.

* * *

Jason snores softly, whilst Alison is face down in her pillow, with a proprietary hand laid across the sweet packet. The TV drones lowly in the background and Stevie is half-watching it, rolled onto her side, her eyelids beginning to droop as her phone starts to buzz softly.

Her head jerks up, her neck twinging in protest at the sudden move. Despite the phone being next to her, she fumbles for a moment in the dull room, the phone slipping from her grasp. She pushes her hair back off her face as she answers, "Dad, what is it, what's wrong?"

She feels Alison begin to stir next to her, but Jason is still snoring, his head tilted back on his pillow, his mouth agape. Her Dad's voice is quiet, subdued as he asks her to come to the hospital. Stevie blinks, possibilities flooding her brain, none of them positive. "We'll be right in, but Dad is Mom ok?"

Alison is instantly wide awake and sitting upright now at her sister's words, and Stevie can see her staring at her out of the corner of her eye. She turns to meet her sisters gaze and Alison whispers softly, "What is it?"

Stevie gives a shrug because she honestly doesn't know; it doesn't escape her notice how non-committal her Dad is being on the phone, repeating his request that they come to the hospital. She sees Alison give Jason a shake and he swats her away with his hand, grumbling, "Tired, go 'way."

She takes a deep breath and tries again, afraid of next question but needing to know the answer. "Dad, is Mom alive?"

Alison pauses in her attempts to wake up her brother, head swivelling and her mouth opening in horrified shock. The words also seem to pull Jason out of his half-sleep, his eyes opening and staring wide eyed at them both. Stevie doesn't doubt that events of the last day have just come flooding back to her little brother.

The seconds her Dad takes to answer her question must be the longest, most torturous seconds of Stevie's life and his answer brings little relief, "I don't know." The words sound like they've been torn from him and she hears his breath stutter and catch at his admission.

She calculates the lack of traffic in DC and tries to work out how long it will take to get for them to get back to the hospital. "We can be there in about ten…fifteen minutes. Dad…I love you."

His voice is low as he returns the sentiment and Stevie ends the call, lifting her face to meet the panicked gaze of her siblings. "We need to go back to the hospital," she tells them, getting clumsily to her feet.

Jason is shoving the covers off himself. "Yeah I picked up on that."

"Good, so let's just get our shoes and coats on and go."

"Stevie, wait!" Alison calls after her.

Stevie turns on her heel. "We need to go!" She tells them, her voice rising an octave.

Alison blinks, her eyes watering. "Stevie…what did Dad say? You asked him…" she swallows heavily, her voice cracking as she breaks off, her eyes wide and pleading. "What was his answer?"

Jason is staring at her as well and he's lost all of his normal posturing, his shoulders are sloped, his mouth set in a downward turn and his fingers are gripping the duvet cover he's just pushed to one side. She looks between them, her mind racing for a moment before she decides she just needs to be honest. "He doesn't know." She gestures towards the door. "But we need to go."

They both nod, their movements are slow and jerky and Stevie wants to scream at them to hurry up, but she knows that she's being unfair to them and that what feels like minutes is really just a few extra seconds. Her hands and arms shake as she pulls on her own shoes. She can feel them behind her, sees Jason stumble with his laces and she bites back her irrational anger. Alison is hugging her jacket around herself and sniffing.

Jason swears under his breath, as the lace falls out from between his fingers again and he simply shoves the loose laces down the sides of his trainers, tucking them out the way. He jumps up. "Right, ready."

Stevie knows that her Mom would never let that slide, would tell him to take the time to tie his laces, that it's dangerous to leave them like that, but she doesn't say any of that to him. She just wants to get to the hospital as quickly as she possibly can and so she shepherds them out into the cold night, where the car is waiting for them.

* * *

The anaesthetist rubs his gloved thumb against his cheek as he looks over the most recent blood gases. In the background he can hear the thud and creak of the bed as the chest compressions continue. The gases thankfully aren't terrible, there's some time to play with, but it won't be much. He trails his gaze back up and over Elizabeth. They've corrected the cause of the arrest, but he knows that isn't always enough. He has always wondered why there are times they get some people back but not others, he suspects it might be luck, or lack thereof. He hears the puff of the ambu-bag as another two breathes are squeezed out, into her lungs. "Can we have another rhythm check?" He asks.

_Ventricular Fibrillation, shock advised, charge to two-twenty, press charge, press charge_ the machine drones at them.

He gives a nod of his head, stating, "Everyone stand clear." He sees the team take a step back and nods at the team member in charge of the machine. They press the orange button again. The thud reverberates, her body twitches, her head rolling slightly on the bed.

There's a gap of two seconds before the machine sounds again.

_Ventricular Fibrillation, shock advised, charge to two-twenty, press charge, press charge_

He nods again. The defibrillator delivers its fourth shock, its bland, automatic tone announcing it to the room. _Shock delivered, check output._

A rhythm begins to beat out on monitor, but he holds his breath, she's had PEA before, so until they confirm an output, that means nothing. Maggie leans forward, pressing her index and middle finger against the pulse point at Elizabeth's neck. "We have a pulse," she announces.

Everyone in the room visibly relaxes at the words. The anaesthetist gives a nod. "Good work everyone, now lets get her stabilised." He nods at Lewis. "We need to place a tube into that thoracostomy, then I want a chest x-ray to confirm positioning and check that we haven't missed any further damage." He nods at Ellie. "You happy to bag until we get the tube secure?"

Ellie gave a nod. "Of course."

"Thank you." He watches as the team gets ready, following his instructions. He considers his earlier thoughts. If it does sometimes just come down to luck, then Secretary Elizabeth McCord has had it in spades the last twenty-four hours.

* * *

Will can't help but stop at the doors to the ICU, making an attempt to peer through the glass of the long, thin rectangular window set into the door. He can only make out that the lights are on at the top of the ward, nothing else and his stomach sinks.

He considers pressing the buzzer, because he suspects that if anyone had updated Henry then his brother-in-law would have phoned him, which he hasn't, and if he's honest, he's not sure he can sit in that relative's room, waiting. His finger hovers at the buzzer and then his arm drops, he doesn't want to pull anyone away from her when she needs them most. He feels powerless, transported back to when he was thirteen, leaning in through the passenger window of the car and pleading with his Mom to tell him what to do.

His feet are heavy as he turns and walks to the room to wait with Henry. The kids are already in there, their jackets over their pyjamas, hair sticking up at odd angles and that same expression on their face that Lizzie had when they brought her to see him at the hospital that night thirty four years ago. They're pale, eyes red rimmed, holding onto control by a thread, trying to be brave.

Henry looks like a lost soul, his eyes are hollow, and Stevie is grasping onto his hand, Will can see that he isn't even returning the comfort, his fingers slack, hanging loosely in hers. He looks up when the door clicks shut behind Will. "Someone brought some tea in for me, but other than that they haven't been back yet," he tells him.

Will nods, pulling his bottom lip in between his teeth, biting down for a second before letting it go with a hiss. It's what he thought, no news yet, but that doesn't make it easier. "What happened?" He asks. "You said they were running tests before it."

"Um yeah." Henry's eyes are dazed, he looks like a man who has no idea where he is or how he got there. "When I got back from seeing you off, they were giving her a medication. Said it was to stop her system being overloaded by the blood transfusion, that she was working harder than before; they wanted to be cautious." He visibly gulps and swallows. "She seemed to be doing ok for a while after it, so…I fell asleep for a bit…"

Will can see the admission pains him, can see the guilt that's turning him inside and out, but he can't help but push him. He needs to know what happened if he's going to figure out just what Lizzie's chances are. "Then what happened?"

"They were taking bloods, bringing the doctor up to review her, they asked for a chest x-ray." He blinked a couple of times. "I knew it wasn't good, but I didn't think…the monitors just started going." The muscle in his jaw twitches as he returns to that moment in time.

"Why did they want the x-ray? What were they looking for?"

"Infection, or air…blood in her lungs."

Will sees Alison wince at the words but he ignores it, just as he ignores the way Jason's head drops down to his chest, as he stares at the floor, his fists curling in on themselves. "What alarmed?" He asks urgently.

Henry shook his head. "I don't know."

"What did they say?"

"Ellie…she pulled an alarm. Said it was a peri-arrest. They wouldn't tell me what that meant, just said she was very unwell." He looks up. "What does it mean?"

Will bits the inside of his cheek. "It means that if they don't do something fast then her heart will stop." Henry's shoulders shake, whilst Stevie studies the floor and he can see a singular tear roll down and drip off the edge of her nose. "Henry, did they say anything else while you were in there?"

He shakes his head. "I don't know," he admits on a sigh.

"I need to know!" Will can hear the sharp edge to his own voice, he knows it's unfair, knows his brother-in-law is suffering and a small part whispers he should stop pushing, but the bigger part is screaming at him for answers.

It's Alison who jumps to her Dad's defence. "If he knew he'd tell you," she snaps back at him.

Will runs a hand through his hair, gripping momentarily at the strands, feeling the tug at his scalp. "Henry, she was fine. I saw the numbers. I don't understand how this happened. If you can just tell me…tell me…" He throws his hands outwards. "Tell me what they said about there being blood or air in her lungs."

"Just that they were looking for it."

There's a growl from Will's throat. He's not annoyed with Henry, he's annoyed at himself. He's annoyed that he left, can't help but wonder what might have been. "She was fine," he repeats again, now thinking aloud. "She must have been compensating, but even then…it shouldn't have been so quick." He rubs agitatedly at his jaw. "She was stable," he insists again.

"Uncle Will, stop," Stevie tells him, looking up and wiping at her eyes with the edge of her pyjama top. "This isn't helping."

But he can't stop, it's like someone's released a valve and he can't hold it back, everything spews out of him, he's muttering it, "She was meant to be stable. Peri-arrest…it came on quickly…if they thought it was her lungs..."

It's Henry who explodes first. "What does it matter!" He's on his feet, his cheeks flushing. He can't listen to more of this, the questions, the guilt and the what ifs are already sounding in his own head, he doesn't need anyone else's. "What difference could it possibly make now?"

Will looks at him, he feels oddly calm, his next words trickle out as if they should be plainly obvious already. "Because, she shouldn't have survived the gunshot, but she did. I need to know what happened because I need to know her chances. I don't know if she can be that lucky twice."

Henry blinks at him, giving a slow shake of his head as he turns and walks away. He goes to stand at the window, his hand across his mouth, his whole body so tense it looks as though it might snap. The kids sit in silence.

Will glances down at the tea set laid out on the coffee table, fine china teacups sitting on delicate saucers. He chokes back a panicked laugh. They've given them the good tea set; they're screwed.

* * *

Studying the x-ray on the screen, the anaesthetist taps at the image of the left lung. "That is a fairly significant pneumothorax. Chest tube positioning is good though." He claps Lewis's shoulder. "Good job."

"Thank you, Sir, but I feel I should have caught it sooner."

"Looking at her numbers she did one hell of a job compensating for it, especially considering the pre-existing trauma. For what it's worth, no-one, not even me would have seen that deterioration coming."

"Any idea what caused it?" Ellie asked, from the top end of the bed. She's fixed the ventilator back onto Elizabeth's ET tube and with Maggie's help is sliding the pillow back under her head.

"There's a small nick to one of the left ribs, potentially from the bullet, so it could have been a bone fleck. Or it could have quite easily just have been a complication from the ventilator, or the central line." His finger traces the screen again. "Fracture to the 6th anterior rib on the right side. She's going to feel like hell when she wakes up."

Maggie winces at his words, she knows it's a common occurrence during CPR, but she still feels a bit guilty about it. Ellie gives her a sympathetic smile and then has another thought. "Did you ask someone to speak to her husband?"

The anaesthetist looks up. "Ah…no. She's fairly stable now so we can go and do that." He taps the chart. "I've left the parameters for the ventilator settings written here. If you can get blood gases in an hour, I've also written up a plan to bring the ventilators support levels down depending on how she responds and what the gases show." He scribbles a signature on the chart. "You ok for me to send the husband back in?"

Ellie's mouth quirks as she glances around the room. Packaging is strewn around it, the trolley with the blood-stained instruments from the thoracostomy is still lying out, whilst the defibrillator is pushed against one wall and Elizabeth's sheets are splattered in blood and iodine. She doesn't think it will do Henry McCord any good to see any of this. "Not yet, we'll get her comfortable and then he can come back in and sit with her. I'll send someone out to get him when we're done."

"Alright, Dr Monaghan, you should come with me. We don't often get to give them good news after something like this, so it's nice to see for a change."

The two men leave the room and Ellie gives a sigh, surveying the damage. "Can you give me a hand?" she asks Maggie.

"Of course. It's almost 4am, you want to just get her washed? Since we need to change the sheets anyway?"

"Think that's the best idea." She gives a snort. "Will we just send him in," she echoes, shaking her head in disbelief.

* * *

Henry hasn't been able to find the words to comfort his children, he feels like the worst father in the world, but everything he thinks about saying sticks in his throat. How does he make any of this better?

Will at least has calmed, he's sitting against the corner of one of the sofas, his elbow propped on the arm of it and his chin resting on the upturned palm of his hand. He hasn't said a word since his outburst, but Henry recognises the look on his face, it's the same one that Elizabeth gets when she's trying to figure out the impossible. The difference is that Will taps his fingers against the sofa cushion as he thinks, drawing irritated looks from Jason.

As the clock continues to tick, Henry can't help but wonder that if they're still waiting it means that there is still hope.

Another five minutes pass and the door finally opens, two men in scrubs stepping into the room. Henry recognises the younger one from earlier, but the second one he hasn't seen before. He steps forward. "How's Elizabeth?"

The older man looks around the room. "Are you all together?"

"Yes." Henry takes another step forward. "How's my wife?"

"I'm Dr Tim Miller, I'm the lead on call anaesthetist tonight." He is gestured towards the chair. "Do you want to sit down Dr McCord?"

"No. I…we just want to know what's happened."

"I'm glad to tell you that we have managed to stabilise Elizabeth's condition."

Henry feels like a weight has been lifted from him, he can hear his kids sounds of joy buzzing in the background of the room. "Thank God," he breathes out. "Thank God." His hands shake as he presses them against his mouth. He feels like he could throw up from the relief coursing through him.

"I won't lie, it was very touch and go for a while. Elizabeth suffered a complication from her left lung collapsing, where the air escapes out of the lung but then becomes trapped within the chest wall. It meant that with each breath Elizabeth took in, the pressure in her chest increased, pushing her lungs and hearts to one side. We had to insert another chest tube into the left side of her chest to relieve this pressure."

"She had a tension pneumothorax," Will clarified.

"She did," he gives Will a quizzical look.

"My brother in law is a trauma surgeon," Henry clarifies.

"Ah." He gave a small frown. "I do have to advise you that Elizabeth's heart did stop before we were able to treat this-"

Henry's heart stutters at that. "Does that mean there's a risk of further brain damage?" He interrupts.

"Elizabeth received prompt treatment, there was oxygen given throughout and we ran oxygen levels in her blood both during and following her arrest. Given what those levels showed, I am hopeful that this won't worsen any impact her earlier arrest may have had."

"But you can't rule it out," Will states.

There is a slow shake of his head. "No, until she regains consciousness, we can't give any guarantees." His cheek gives a twitch. "I also need to inform you that that during the compressions to restart Elizabeth's heart, one of her ribs were fractured. It's a common but unfortunate side effect of CPR."

"Will that affect her long-term recovery?" Henry asks. He feels like even when he gets good news it's followed by another blow. His brain is already reeling and he's not sure how much more he can really take in.

"No, it will cause a few weeks of discomfort, but shouldn't cause any long-term side effects."

"Well that's one thing," Henry sighs.

"What caused the original pneumothorax?" Will asks, he's standing now, his fingers tapping against his thigh.

"It may have been a slow tear caused by damage from the bullet, it could have been a complication from the ventilator. We simply can't say for definite."

Henry sits back in his chair, he feels drained, exhausted. He just wants to see Elizabeth, to reassure himself that she really is still with him. "What does it matter, Will?"

He gives a muttered inaudible reply.

"I'd like to see Elizabeth." Henry informs them.

"Of course. The nursing staff are just making her comfortable. They'll come in and get you when they're ready."

Henry nods, standing as the two men stand. He offers them his hand, shaking both of theirs in turn. "Thank you," he tells them. He thought she was gone, that he had lost her, thought he had seen his wife alive for the last time as he was hustled from that room.

As the doctors leave the relative's room, Henry feels his children rush him, hugging him tightly. He returns the hug, wrapping his arms as tightly around the three of them as he can, thanking his lucky stars that, for now, their family is still intact. He knows there is a long road ahead of them, knows that nothing is certain, but for now she's still on that road with him.


	23. Chapter 23

It is the thunk of the door closing that pulls Henry's attention away from the hug his children have enveloped him in, and he realises that Will has left the room. He kisses Alison's hair, as she's the closest to him and tells them, "Hang on a minute. I'm just going to check on your Uncle Will."

He steps back from them, feeling a slight pull of guilt at leaving them so soon, but he's concerned about just what his brother-in-law has stormed out of there to chase after. His concern is proved to be well-founded when he finds him questioning the younger of the doctors in the corridor. Will's stance is unfriendly, bordering on aggressive. He's standing a touch too close for comfort, his arms crossed across his body, and a tight scowl set on his features as he interrogates him.

"When you prescribed the diuretic, what were her symptoms?"

"It was the resident on-call who prescribed it at the time, but I believe there had been a slight increase in your sister's oxygen requirements."

"How slight?"

"From 30% to 40%, which was still within the initial parameters laid out by the anaesthetist."

Will shifts on his feet. "What were her sats?"

"As I said didn't provide the initial review, so I can't be exact, but they were in the 90s."

Henry calls out as he steps forward. "Will."

Will shakes his head at him and turns back to Lewis. "Did her vitals improve after the furosemide?"

"They stabilised."

"Then what happened?"

He's like a dog with a bone, Henry thinks. He throws question after question, never satisfied with the answer. The young doctor is handling it fairly well, his answers calm and level, although Henry can see the nervous bob of his Adam's apple as he replies, "There was slight increase to her heart rate and a drop to her blood pressure along with another increase to her oxygen requirements."

Henry tries again, he can sense his brother in law's growing agitation. "Will, they've explained what happened."

"I know what happened, but I want to know exactly how it happened," he replied shortly.

Lewis managed a small, tight smile. "It's fine. I'm happy to explain. Given the change, I requested a set of bloods and asked for a chest x-ray."

Running a hand through his hair, Henry tried again. "Will, I already told you about this bit."

Will doesn't even look at him, his tone brusque. "I want to hear it from them. You asked for a chest x-ray, so did you suspect a pneumothorax?"

"It was a possibility, which is why I requested the x-ray."

"Did you take blood gases?"

Lewis nodded. "We did. Her PaO2 was slightly low, but she was only on 50% oxygen. I felt increasing that would help hold her saturations until we got the chest x-ray."

Henry is lost now, the words they're using have no real meaning to him and he's beginning to wonder if this is how others feel when he starts talking about his saints and moral constructs. A slow thump starts at front of his forehead at their conversation, as Will continues to press on with his interrogation.

"Did you consider a needle decompression?"

"The guidelines only suggest carrying out a needle decompression if there are signs of a tension pneumothorax. At that time, although Elizabeth's symptoms didn't indicate that. When they did, I carried out a needle decompression."

"Before or after she arrested."

"Before. The needle decompression failed, and the arrest happened following that but before we could carry out a thoracostomy."

"What gauge of needle did you use?"

"A sixteen."

Henry shook his head, closing his eyes and pinching the bridge of his nose, he didn't want to listen to this, he'd lived it and he didn't want to have more details to add to the already vivid memory that replayed over and over in his head. "Will, stop this. It's not going to help."

Will drew in a sharp breath. "Why a sixteen?"

"I based it on Elizabeth's slight build and the literature regarding the sizing-"

"Will!" Henry snapped, his voice rising slightly, he wasn't quite shouting, but he wasn't far from it. "Stop it!" He could tell that Will was about to turn back, start another volley of questions and so he turned to the doctor instead. "If you could give us some time."

He gave a nod. "Of course."

A growl of annoyance escaped the back of Will's throat as he rounded on Henry. "What did you do that for?"

"Because it wasn't helping anybody."

"It might have helped!" Will insisted shortly.

Henry scoffed, his eyes narrowing in disbelief. "Really? And how's that?"

Will pressed his fingertips into his forehead, his voice was low and raspy when he replied, "It might help me make sense of what happened."

"You were the one telling me that this didn't make sense, remember?"

Will's lips pursed. "I told you it wasn't fair. Not exactly the same thing."

Crossing his arms over himself, Henry told him. "Then explain the difference, because to me it looks like we were both trying to find reason in a situation where there is none."

"There's always reason in medicine," Will replied. He threw an arm outwards, letting it arch aimlessly through mid-air. "Why Merchant picked Lizzie, why it happened today, why his letters got lost; that doesn't make sense, but medicine does. It's fact, evidence, patterns…" He tailed off for a moment, his eyes flickering shut for a moment as his head fell back. His face tilted towards the ceiling.

Henry wondered if it was a co-incidence that both Elizabeth and her brother had sought out careers where reason prevailed, or whether it had been another thing that their shared loss united them in.

A second to collect himself and Will brought his face forward again. "Lizzie was stable. All the numbers said so. All the evidence pointed to it." He licked his lips nervously, as his fingers danced against the side of his thigh. "She shouldn't have been able to compensate for so long, not with the trauma she already had."

"But she did," Henry pointed out saliently.

Will continued as though he hadn't spoken. "I didn't see it coming, I got it wrong, so wrong."

Henry took a step forward, his hand lifting to rest on Will's upper arm. "I don't think anybody saw it coming."

He blinked, his head tilting as he stared at Henry. "You did," he croaked. "I could see it on your face, that blind panic."

"If I'd seen it coming, I wouldn't have sent you home." His grip tightened momentarily on Will's arm. "There's blame enough to go round at the moment if we look for it, but Elizabeth is alive."

Will jerked his arm out of Henry's grasp. "No thanks to me." He shook his head, his finger levelling at him. "You don't get it. I became a doctor to save lives, so that what happened to…" he broke off, shaking his head before trying again. "So that I wouldn't let anyone down again. And when it mattered. When it came down to it, I let Lizzie down." His arm dropped to his side. "You're a doctor of theology, those numbers on those monitors, they mean nothing to you. You look at Lizzie in that bed and you just see her clinging to life. But those numbers meant something to me, I looked at them and I saw someone who was getting better." His fingers gripped his forehead again, before running up into his hair. "I went home, not because you told me to, but because I thought she was stable. So, when Lizzie needed me, when she started to deteriorate, where was I? I was in my bed!" His rant finished on a hiss, his face twisting in self-loathing.

Henry considered his next words carefully. "You told me that I couldn't blame myself for something that wasn't within my control. Well this wasn't within yours."

"I get that I couldn't have prevented it; not all of it anyway, but if I'd stayed then I might have spotted the initial pneumothorax. Then it wouldn't have converted, it wouldn't have been an emergency and her heart wouldn't have stopped."

"Lot of ifs in there," Henry pointed out. "Still wasn't in your control."

For a moment, Will was silent as he stared towards the doors of the ICU, then his shoulders gave a judder and he pulled his gaze away. "I'm going to go," he told him quietly.

Henry felt a bubble of anger and frustration well up at Will's tone. "You didn't let Elizabeth down, but if you go now then you are."

"You don't get it; I can't sit in there with her. Not after this."

"No believe me, that I get." Henry's voice rose slightly, his jaw gritted. "You think I found it easy to sit with Elizabeth and feel like I was responsible for her being in that bed in the first place?"

"That's different."

Henry's palm scrubbed across his jaw, his thumb rubbing at the side of his mouth as he forced himself to stay calm. "No, it's not. Elizabeth needs us."

Will gave a humourless laugh. "No, Lizzie needed me hours ago and I wasn't here." He held his hand up to stop Henry from objecting again. "I spoke to her surgeon last night. When I went to take Alison back to the waiting room; he was at the nurse's desk. I wanted to know exactly what her injuries had been, but I knew that you wouldn't want to hear it."

"Why?" Henry asked, a confused frown creasing his brow. "Why did you need to know?"

"So, I could figure out what was going to come next. Henry, Lizzie shouldn't even have made it into theatre."

Henry blanched, the colour draining from his face. "He said that?"

"He didn't need to. Her injuries they spoke for themselves. Lizzie got lucky; you know what saved her?"

"I don't think I want to hear this," Henry told him, half turning away from him. He'd heard enough about how close he'd came to losing his wife to last him a lifetime.

Will continued unabated. "The damage to her heart caused the sac around it to fill with blood, which meant it couldn't beat properly, so her blood couldn't circulate as well."

"Stop it." Henry held up his hand in a half plea.

"If it hadn't been for that, the blood loss from her injuries would have been catastrophic. She'd have been lucky to have made it to the ER, and she sure as hell wouldn't have made it to theatre." His eyes looked up, meeting Henry's. "I knew we'd need to wait to find out how well she was going to recover, but I thought if she'd came through that, if she'd made it to the ICU and she was stable, with her obs improving, then we were home safe." He took in a deep, shuddering breath. "I got it so wrong. I had the power to make a difference to her. I let her down and sitting by her bed now isn't going to change that. She doesn't need me now."

"You're not leaving because you're not needed, you're running because you're scared," Henry countered. "And if you walk out that door, I promise that you'll regret it." His voice dropped, it was low, cajoling, "The kids need you here."

Will's head shook slowly from side to side. "No, they don't." He looked away from Henry. "If anything changes, then give me a call."

"Don't do this, take a few hours and clear your head. But don't turn your back on her, if this was the other way round, she'd be here, and you know it."

Will's mouth gave the slightest twitch, a small almost half smile. "Yeah, but then Lizzie was always the better of us."

Henry felt a surge of anger. "You're being a coward."

"I'm being pragmatic, Lizzie has you and the kids; she doesn't need me sitting staring at her." His hand lifted slightly before fluttering uselessly back down to his side. His face set in grim determination as he stated again, "I'm going home."

There's a small cough from behind them and Henry turns on his heels to see his eldest standing watching them, her eyes wary as they flicker between both of them. "I came out to check everything was ok."

Will answers before Henry can. "It's fine." His gaze moves to Henry but avoids making eye contact. "I'll be in touch to find out how she is."

Feeling Stevie's gaze on them, Henry bites back a plethora of insults, forcing his rage back into the box he's been forced to push it into for the last sixteen hours and silently watches his brother in law walk away from them, not once looking over his shoulder. He lets out a quiet, annoyed tsk. When he turns Stevie is looking at the retreating form of Will's back, her expression of disappointment is so reminiscent of Elizabeth's whenever she lamented Will's latest choice in life, that for a second his breath catches in his throat. Her brow furrows in confusion as her eyes meet Henry's. "He's really leaving?"

"Looks like it."

"Do you think he'll come back?"

Henry runs a harried hand through his hair. "I don't know," he admits. "I hope so." He steps towards his daughter and drapes his arm around her shoulders.

"Maybe he just needs a break."

"Maybe," he replies non-committedly before making the decision to change the subject, asking her, "You guys holding up?"

"Yeah. We just want her to wake up soon."

Henry kisses the top of her head. "I know, me too."

* * *

The clock in the waiting room ticks away another half an hour before the waiting room door clicks open again and they're told that they can see Elizabeth. Henry is surprised when it's Jason who asks, "Can I come in with you first?" His son has been the quietest of his kids since his early outburst, and his discomfort had been evident earlier on.

"Of course you can," Henry assures him.

Jason falls into step with him as they walk down the ward, but when Henry looks across at him so he can at least try to offer him some reassurance, he sees that Jason is looking down at his own feet.

Elizabeth's room smells like soap, the light scent of jasmine lingering in the air from her shower gel. Henry flashes back to that morning, to when he leaned into kiss her goodbye and he could smell it on her skin, mingling with her perfume. It's a jarring memory, he feels like this side of her doesn't belong in such a clinical environment.

Elizabeth looks the same, her face smooth, unconcerned, as though the last hour and a half hadn't happened, it was almost as though he'd dreamed it all. Henry leans forward, kissing her forehead, his thumb brushing across her cheekbone. Relief thrums through him at the ability to touch her again, that she's really still with him.

Jason is lingering at the door and he's tugged his jacket around himself, one of the laces to his trainers has come loose and is trailed across the floor. He looks younger than his fifteen years, his teenage bravado gone now. "You want to come up here, Jace?"

He hesitates for a second before he nods, shuffling forward. His hands dig into his pocket as he looks down at the bed and the only sound punctuating the silence is the beeps from the monitor and the quiet, rhythmic whoosh of the ventilator. Jason hesitates, one hand reaching out of his jacket, the fingertips slowly coming to rest on top of Elizabeth's, his touch as light as a feather as he fights the urge to pull away.

Henry rests his hand on Jason's shoulder. "You alright?"

Jason gives a slow shake of his head. "Not really," he admits, his voice low. "I was a jerk to Mom this morning."

"I told you, she wasn't angry," Henry tries to reassure him.

"I know, but I still feel bad." He looks briefly at his Mom's face and then looks back down at her hand again before he continues. "When we visited earlier, I couldn't even come up to the bed." He swallows against a lump in his throat. "Because she didn't look like Mom, and I was scared."

"I was scared as well," Henry admits. "I still am."

"But you still sat with her." Jason's fingers twitched against Elizabeth's before they finally curve around hers, loosely holding them. "I didn't even want to look at her. I figured I could see her and would tell her I'm sorry when she woke up. Then you phoned and…Dad…" He looked up and briefly met Henry's gaze before he looked down again. "What if earlier today was the last time I'd seen Mom, and I hadn't been brave enough to see her, to properly see her I mean."

Henry doesn't know what he can say to that, any words he can think of sound trite, cliched and he knows they won't make any of this better for Jason. He squeezes his shoulder, a silent sign that he's there, that he's listening.

Jason rubs his eyes with a clenched fist, frowning, annoyed at the fact he wants to cry. "I don't know what to do. I can't take back this morning and I don't know if she can hear me now."

"Tell her anyway," Henry suggests. "Your Mom will always fight for you, and she'll always listen out for you. There's lots of things that I regret from yesterday, lots of things I wish I had said."

"Have you said them to her now?"

"Some of them."

Jason's grip tightened on his Mom's fingers, squeezing them tightly. He took a deep breath, in and out before his shoulders deflate further. "Don't know if I can."

Henry considers his options. "Why don't I wait outside, give you five minutes and if you want to say something to her then you can, and if you don't," he shrugs, "Then that's ok as well."

"Suppose we could try it."

Henry gives a nod, squeezes Jason's arm before he walks to the door. He waits by the window, and through the slatted blinds, he can see that after a minute or two of hesitation, that Jason's mouth is moving. He hopes that he's right, that Elizabeth can hear him, or at the very least saying the words brings some comfort to his son.


	24. Chapter 24

The early morning sky is still dark as Blake balances the two pastry boxes flat and tucked underneath his arm, walking purposefully down the McCord's street. Even at this distance he can see the security at the bottom of the front step. The rain might have stopped, but the payment is wet, puddles covering the tarmac in large splotches. He side steps them, but the soles of his shoes still make a small squeak at each step.

His eyes fall to the flowers tied to railings, some of the heads have wilted so that they bow down, looking mournfully at the pavement. The ink on some of the notes have smudged because of the rain, running down the paper, obscuring some of the words. It's a morbid tableau and he's aware that there's probably similar at the State Department. He suppresses a shudder; it makes it look as though she's already dead. He forces himself to look away from it.

Blake recognises one of the detail and offers him a small smile as he approaches, untucking the pastry boxes and waggling it at them. "I thought I'd bring the kids some breakfast."

The one he knows, Kyle, gives a small shake of his head. "They aren't here," he tells him.

Blake notices the way his clasped hands tighten momentarily and how a flash of pity crinkles his dark eyes. He swallows against the lump that's instantly formed in his throat. "Where did they go?"

It's a stupid question and he knows it the minute it leave his mouth, after all, given the circumstances there's really only one place they realistically could have went. Kyle confirms it a second later, "Back to the hospital."

"When?"

Kyle's cheek flickers for a second before he replies, "I'm not sure if-"

"I'm going to stop you right there," Blake cuts in. "I am the Secretary's executive assistant, I was at the hospital with them yesterday, I've checked on her kids when she's been out of town, I've smuggled her food and helped her wrangle with truculent diplomats. Hell, I've even been through her underwear drawer." He sees Kyle raise an eyebrow and Blake pulls a face. "Not like that, and you know it." His eyes narrow. "You know full well that you can tell me when they went back there."

Another brief second and Kyle finally replies, "They left here about 3am, Secretary took a turn for the worse."

It's what he expected, but Blake still feels as though someone has slapped him at the last part. He can picture them streaming out of here in the dark, the rain pouring as the leave in a panicked rush. "Any updates?"

"Word is she's stabilised." Kyle gives a small shrug. "But I don't really know what that means at the moment. No word of them heading back here though."

"Ok." Blake nods, considering his options. The kids, and Dr McCord still need to eat. He doesn't want to sit in the office not knowing anything, so he'll go to the hospital. Decision made he looks up at Kyle. "Thanks, I'll go there then."

Securing the boxes back under his arm, Blake turns and heads back the way he came, his steps just as determined as they were before.

* * *

The first rays of dim morning light begin to seep through the gaps of the blinds in the relatives room, catching the small dust particles and making the air shimmer. Stevie props her hand behind her head and watches them from her spot on the floor, her blanket pulled up to her shoulders. She can hear Jason snoring softly and every so often Alison lets out a quiet mumble and she feels a small surge of relief that they are both finally sleeping.

She can't sleep. Her thoughts are racing, it's almost as though there's too many of them to focus on one, and when she tries, they slip away from her. So instead she doesn't try to focus, just stares above her head, watching the particles float in the air. Her chest feels odd, as if someone has tightened a band around it and her stomach feels likes a nest of butterflies have taken up residence in there. Her head is thumping, her temples feels like they're being squeezed. She needs to sleep.

Closing her eyes over, Stevie takes in a deep breath through her nose before exhaling slowly out her mouth. Her hand rests just below her ribs and she feels her diaphragm rise and fall with her breaths. She repeats this multiple times, counting as she goes, trying to stop the rush in her head.

In and out.

She can hear her breath and in the back of her head she starts to imagine the sound of the ventilator, the rush and whoosh it makes as her Mom breathes. Her eyes stay closed, but she feels her the corners of her eyelids twitch at the memory.

Rise and fall.

On the back of her eyelids, she can see her Mom in the bed, the rise and fall of her chest the only movement she makes. She gives her head the smallest of shakes, trying to dispel the image.

It doesn't go, instead her brain just replays earlier, over and over again. She had gone in last, choosing to let Ali go in after Jason. They had both seemed relieved when they came back out and she had expected to feel the same; except she hadn't. Her Dad had squeezed her shoulders, told her how her Mom looked like nothing had happened. But that meant ignoring the extra container clipped onto the bed and pretending that her Mom's hands weren't slightly colder, her skin wasn't that little bit paler than it had been just hours before. She watches the rise and fall of the blanket, thinks of the broken rib and wonders if she can feel it, if it hurts with every one of those mechanical breaths.

Her brain flickers back to the first aid class she took in her first semester at college. She can remember the click of the dummy's chest, remembers being told that meant your compressions were the right depth; she could have sworn she heard it in that hospital room. She remembers the feel of Russell's chest under her hands, the force she had to use, how his chest had bent slightly when she pressed down. She wonders how hard they had pushed to break that rib.

The room felt smaller than it had before, while every beep sounded louder. The main light was still on and it burned at her eyes, making them itch.

She can't even remember what she said to her Dad, she'd just known that she had to get out of that room. She was glad her Mom was alive, but this all felt wrong. They had went from being terrified of her being left like this to relieved about it. Her eyes had darted from machine to machine, as she tried not to look at the ugly black stitches that held plastic lines in place underneath her Mom's skin and wondered if this was to be their new normal. She just couldn't deal with it, so she'd meandered back to her siblings.

Stevie blinks her eyes open again. Was she Will?

Everyone always said how she was just like her Mom, but maybe they had got the wrong Adams, after all, she had walked away just like he had. Her Dad hadn't been angry with her, not like he had been with Will; not at all, but the thought niggled.

She can't sleep and she can't lie here anymore.

Moving slowly, she pushes the blanket from herself, the sounds of her siblings sleeping has gone from reassuring to irritating. She's annoyed that they can sleep when she can't and she's also annoyed that she's annoyed about something so petty. Pressing herself up from the floor, she winces as her wrist cracks, the pop sounding overly loud in the quiet room. Her siblings don't stir, and she lets out a sigh of relief.

Her footsteps are quiet as she walks to the door, she watches them for any signs that she's disturbing them as she pulls the door open. They don't move, their even breathing continuing. She backs out the room and lets the door fall shut with a near silent snick.

* * *

Blake's shoes squeak on the freshly cleaned linoleum as he walks down the hospital corridor, second guessing his decision to come here. He'd figured that the family needed to eat and that they wouldn't make it a priority, so he could at least ensure they had the opportunity. Which was fine until he'd crossed the threshold to the building and wondered just how bad things had gotten last night. What if he turned up at exactly the wrong moment?

He almost turns back, but something propels him forward. The Secretary would want her family looked after and it was something he could help with, so he keeps walking.

As he approaches the ITU he spots Stephanie McCord by the coffee machine. She has a khaki coloured jacket pulled over her pyjamas, the bottoms of which are tucked into some large boots, whilst her long blonde hair is ruffled, small strands of it beginning to frizz, catching the early morning light. Her hands dig through her pockets before meticulously counting out some change, scowling at it as she does so and he can hear her grumble underneath her breath. "You a bit short?" Blake asks as he draws almost level with her.

Stevie's eyes fly to him and she jumps, so lost in her own thoughts that she hasn't noticed that she is no longer alone. She shakes her head, dropping the change back into her pocket with a quiet clink. "It doesn't matter. I've probably had too much of the stuff anyway," she tells him.

"You're a government employee, you can never have too much coffee."

His comment draws a small smile. "I'm just an intern, remember."

"Ah of course. So you need double."

She gives a soft snort of laughter, before her arms wrapped protectively around her body. "I'm surprised to see you here so early," she remarks.

"Yeah. I went to the house." Blake gestures at the now slightly battered pastry boxes. "Thought you would need some breakfast, and security told me you had come back here." His teeth bit gently into the inside of his cheek as he pauses for a second, considering his words before he asks, "Is she ok?"

Stevie tucked her hair behind her ear, her head giving an almost cautionary nod. "Yeah…well…you know…same as last night. But…better." Her brow furrowed as she thought over what she had just said. "Did that make any sense?" She asked after a moment.

"She was worse, but is now back to how she was when everyone left last night, which still sucks but is at least stable?" Blake guesses.

Another small smile tugged at her lips. "Pretty much." She meanders to the collection of chairs in the corner, sitting on the back of one with a soft sigh, tilting her head back and closing her eyes briefly.

"Rough night?"

Her eyes stay closed. "You could say that." Another second and she opens them, bringing her head forward to look at him again. "My Dad called us in at 3am, I think he thought…" she tails off, shaking her head and letting out a deep huff of breath. "I thought…"

Blake moved to the chairs, sitting down on the one next to her and patting the seat of the chair, who's back she was currently perched on. At his encouragement, Stevie swung her legs round and slid down it, into the chair. He places the boxes on the coffee table in front of them. "Want to talk about it?"

Stevie pulls her legs up to her chest, her heels resting on the cushion, whilst her toes dangled over the edge, one foot tapping agitatedly. "I don't even know what to say," she admits.

"Anything. Sometimes it helps to talk things through." The corner of his mouth twitches. "Well, at least that's what my therapist tells me."

"Well, they would." She rests her cheek on her knee as she looks at him. "I thought she was going to die," she admits quietly after a few seconds of silence and she draws her eyes away from his, wary at meeting his gaze following her admission.

Blake leans back in his seat. "I can see how you'd think that, having to rush back in the early hours."

Her fingers have found a strand of her hair and she twirls it almost compulsively around one finger before letting it go and then repeating the action, over and over as she talks. "My Dad sounded…I don't know, confused, scared…not like my Dad at all. Then when we got here…." She stops and sighs before starting again. "Her heart stopped again, and they got her back, got her stable. Everyone else is so happy and so relieved. And I am too, it's just…" She shakes her head. "I feel like how much more can she take? How much more can happen to her and she'll still come out the other side?"

"You're worried about her," Blake surmises.

"Of course. The others, they went in to see her and they were all so happy that she doesn't look any different and I want to scream at them. That's not her!" She runs both of her hands through her hair. "It's like we're now meant to be grateful and I just can't be. I want her to wake up and I know they want that too, but they seem to be able to be positive and I can't be."

"Or maybe they're looking for hope, something to hold onto. None of you are wrong."

"I feel like I am." She sighs again and leaning forward she nudges open one box after the other, perusing the contents. "Bagels _and_ pastries, you're spoiling us."

Blake smiles. "I thought you all deserved a bit of spoiling." He watches as Stevie pulls out a cinnamon bear claw, tearing off a corner of it and popping it into her mouth, chewing slowly. "And for what it's worth," he tells her. "I don't think you're wrong."

Stevie picks at the topping of her pastry. "I couldn't stand in the room. I left after a couple of minutes."

"Everyone needs a break sometimes."

She meets his brown eyes. "My Uncle left, and I don't think he's going to come back."

A frown flickers across his features. "And you think…that you're like him?" he guesses.

"Of course. He couldn't deal with it and he ran away, exactly what I did."

"Yeah." Blake purses his lip thoughtfully and adds, "You know other than the fact that you're still sitting in the hospital and I presume that he isn't. Other than that, yeah, totally the same." Stevie scowls at him and Blake can't help but chuckle when he sees that she has the exact same frown that the Secretary get when she's annoyed at someone. "Sorry." He holds up a hand apologetically, "but you aren't like him."

"How can you be sure?"

"For one thing your Mom has never come back from lunch with you muttering under her breath. And yeah, it was too much for you to sit in the room, but you've still been here the last few hours, waiting around just in case you're needed. So, I'm sure." He looks at the dark circles underneath her bloodshot eyes and asks, "Have you slept at all?"

"Little bit. I got about an hour, round about midnight."

Blake pulls a face. "So no. You should go and get some sleep. At home."

"I'm afraid if I go home, something bad will happen." She glances up at the wall clock and adds, "Also I have to go and pick up Jareth at the airport in like three hours."

His lips purse and he shakes his head. "No, just no. You aren't going to the airport. Send him a text telling him where to go, he won't complain, believe me you get a pass with this one."

"Do you think?"

"Definitely." He nudges the boxes closer to her and tells her. "So take these and your brother and sister home, get some proper rest."

Stevie opens her mouth, as if to argue, when the ward doors opened and Henry wanders out, stopping in surprise when he sees them there. Stevie jumps to her feet. "Is everything ok?" she asks hurriedly.

He pulls her into a hug "Your Mom's fine. The shifts are changing, so they've asked me to wait outside while they handover."

Her shoulders relax and she lets out a sigh of relief. "Oh, ok." She steps back, out from the hug.

Henry offers a tired smile to Blake. "I didn't expect to see you this morning."

Stevie answers for him. "He brought us breakfast." She moves to the boxes, rooting through them. "What do you want?"

"I'm not really hungry. But thank you, Blake."

"It's ok. I can run out and get you a coffee if you'd like?"

"That I won't turn down," Henry tells him.

Stevie's arms fall to her side. "Dad, you need to eat." She holds out a pastry. "They have glazed pecan danish, your favourite. Also a bagel and cream cheese."

"I'm just not hungry."

Giving a sigh, Stevie replies, "Tell you what. I'll take Ali and Jason home so they actually get some rest, but only if you eat."

Henry hesitates before he nods. "Fine, but you have to sleep as well."

"I will, as long as you phone me if anything changes."

"I'll phone you if it's anything bad, I don't want to wake you up unless I have to," he counters.

"Fine." Stevie presses a bagel and pastry into his hands.

Blake smothers a smile at the pair. "And I will go and get your coffee."


	25. Chapter 25

Will hears the click of the letterbox along with the dull thud of the newspaper as it is pushed through and hits the carpet. Normally if he was off, he'd be first to it, but today he stays in his seat at the kitchen table, nursing his now cold, still full cup of coffee.

It is Sophie who grabs it and as she walks into their kitchen diner, he can see it tucked underneath her arm. She looks him up and down, and suddenly he has a heightened awareness of his blood-shot eyes, his ruffled hair and his five o-clock shadow, he looks like hell and he knows it. She sighs, placing the paper onto the counter and he can't help but notice that she has folded it so that the front page isn't visible. "You ready to talk yet?" she asks softly.

His reply is sharper than he really intends it to be. "Do I have a choice?"

She inhales sharply and he sees her shoulders stiffen, but the flash of annoyance fades as quickly as it hits. "Well, I'd at least like to know how Lizzie is," she tells him.

He gives a nod, he can understand that. He had only gotten back an hour ago, knowing that he'd be unable to sleep, he had wandered instead. Something that if she knew she'd scold him for, wandering the streets of DC at night wasn't the wisest decision after all. But his thoughts were such a jumbled rush, and he had felt as though a colony of ants had taken up residence under his skin, he'd felt jittery, uncomfortable and he just couldn't rest. "She's stable," he replies after a moment, his voice a harsh croak.

Sophie sits down across from him. "What happened?"

Will rubs at his eyes, they are gritty, and a collection of sleep is beginning to gather at the corners, worsening the feeling. "She had a tension pneumothorax."

Being married to a trauma surgeon means that Sophie is familiar with the term and knowing the significance, she winces. "They get it quickly?"

He places the cold cup onto the table, looking down at the murky brown liquid as he answers. "As quickly as they could. I…uh…think she had a pneumothorax and managed to compensate for a bit with that, but then couldn't when it converted. The needle decompression failed, and her heart stopped." He hears Sophie's quiet gasp and he rubs at his jaw, the small patches of stubble catching on the pads of his fingertips. "They got her back; they don't think they'll be any further ramifications from that arrest, she was well oxygenated throughout."

"Do the kids know?"

"Yeah. Henry phoned them, they got there before I did."

"Oh God, poor Henry. Was he with her?" Will nods and Sophie adds. "You could have stayed. I would have explained it to Annie, she would have understood."

"I didn't want to stay," Will admits after a moment. "I…I left the hospital hours ago."

She frowns. "Why?"

"I wasn't of any use." He gives a shrug. "Why stay?"

"I don't understand what you mean," Sophie admits after a moment. "If they didn't want you there, then Henry wouldn't have called you at three in the morning."

His fingers tap agitatedly against the wooden tabletop. "I should have been there."

"You were there."

He shakes his head, letting out a nervous sigh before his lips purse together. "No…I mean I should never have left. When she got worse, I should have been there."

Sophie eyes her husband warily, she recognises this mood. "Would that have made a difference?"

"Maybe." His hand presses against his mouth and he chews at the corner of his thumbnail as he thinks. He replays what the surgeon told him post op and adds in what the junior doctor told him about her deterioration. The seconds ticks by, Sophie doesn't speak again, but he knows she's waiting for him to expand his answer. Another few seconds and he does. "I don't know. I…" He blinks rapidly, still trying to piece the puzzle together. "I might have seen it sooner."

"And if you had, what would you have done?" she asks him, her voice soft, calm.

He thinks for another few seconds. When would he have seen it? At what point would he have realised that it was an emergency? What would he have done differently? "Maybe if the needle decompression had been done sooner…" He gestures with his hands, throwing them outwards. "Maybe it would have worked."

"You think they waited too long?"

"I'm not sure," he admits. That's the part of the puzzle he can't quite make fit together. Ironically, he would have needed to have been there to know that answer for definite.

"You've said yourself that they can come on quickly, that there can be seconds in it."

"I know what I've said!" His voice is sharp again and he sees her eyelid flicker, knows she has registered it and chosen to ignore it.

"Then you can't be sure," she points out gently.

"If I'd been there then I would be sure, but I wasn't, so no, I can't be."

"But Lizzie is going to be ok?"

"As much as she would have been before this happened."

"Good." Sophie presses her hand against his mug and on finding it cold, gets up to fiddle with the percolator. "What time is their ward round at? If you need me to, I can take Annie to school. Traffic can be awful round there."

"It's about nine-ish, but I can take Annie to school."

Sophie glances up at him. "That's going to be cutting it fine for you."

"It won't be. I'm not going."

"Oh." She pauses for a moment. "I thought you wanted to go?"

"I changed my mind."

"Right." She fiddles about the with bag of the coffee beans. "What about Henry? Is he not keen to have you there, explain and cut through all the medical mumbo-jumbo?"

Will's knee shakes, knocking against the underside of the table in intervals. "He'll manage."

She clicks the pot into place, still she doesn't turn to look at him, and he knows why she's doing that. She doesn't want him to feel attacked, hemmed in, wants him to feel free to say whatever he's thinking. For some reason he finds the avoidance just as annoying. He wants her to be angry at him, because if he's honest he's spoiling for the fight. She doesn't give it to him though, as she asks, "What made you change your mind?"

"I should have been there earlier. No point turning up now when I'm not needed."

"I'm sure Henry and the kids still need you and I'm sure Lizzie would still want you there."

"I'm sure Lizzie will be delighted if she wakes up to find that I bailed, it will fit right into her expectation of me." The bitterness drips off every word.

Sophie finally turns, crossing her arms across herself. "Why are you running from this?"

"I'm not running. I just don't see the point in being there when I'm not going to be of any use. When I could have been useful, I wasn't there, no point showing up and sitting there now the horse has bolted."

"What about Henry?"

"What about him?"

"You said he was struggling. I'm sure he'd appreciate having you there."

Will's tone is dismissive. "He'll manage."

She sucks her cheeks in for a moment before she tries a different tact. "I get that you're annoyed at yourself, that you feel this was the chance to prove yourself, but you aren't Lizzie's doctor. You are her brother, which means you aren't sitting at her bedside to diagnose her or to monitor her condition, but to support her and her husband and children. Your brother-in-law and your nieces and nephews. Your family."

"They'll be fine."

"That's not the point." She looks at him in exasperation. "Will, you should be there. You obviously want to be. Look at you!"

He scowls at her. "I don't want to be there."

"She's your family."

"So what?"

Sophie holds her hand up and shakes her head. "You know sometimes I just don't understand you."

"I'm not asking you to."

"If it was me or Annie, would you just walk away?"

"It's different."

"Is it?" She asks before letting out a long sigh. "You know what, you're going to do what you want. But think about it, really think about it. What you decide now, you can't take back. Lizzie and Henry would be there day and night if the shoe were on the other foot-"

"I don't want to hear about my perfect sister and how she would have managed this situation," Will interrupts. "And I don't need you to give me saccharine lectures about the importance of being there for family. I'm more than aware of what it feels like to let down family and you know what I've already let them down, so why go back just to do it all again?" His knee knocks the table again as he meets Sophie's exasperated expression. "Or should I just join Henry and make his one-man guilt trip into a group activity? You never know, could make for a fun family bonding experience."

"If this is what you're going to be like today then I don't want you to take Annie to school," she tells him. "Take the day, think things through."

His teeth grit. "I promised her."

"Yeah well-"

Her reply is cut off by Annie running into the kitchen, her hair mused, sections of it standing on end and she flings herself onto Will's knee. "Dad, you're home."

"Just like I promised," he smiled. He kisses her cheek. "Now will we get you some chocolate cereal?"

As Annie cheers her agreement, Will sees Sophie shake her head at him. He ignores her and lifting Annie up onto his hip, he carries her to the counter-top, placing her on top as he gets her cereal ready. Sophie gives their daughter a smile and ruffles her hair as she tells her. "I'm going to take you to school today. Your Dad has some things to do."

"Do you need to get back to see Aunt Lizzie?" Annie asks her Dad.

Will resists the urge to frown at Sophie, knowing that she's trying to back him into a corner just like he had done to her only a minute before with the cereal. "Aunt Lizzie will have her doctors to look after her. In fact if I move some things around then-"

Sophie doesn't let him finish. "Dad will take you to school another day, but you're so important that he had to make sure that you both had breakfast together."

Annie grins, missing the glower that her Dad shoots her Mom across the top of her head as she turns and tells him. "Dad, you can have some of my chocolate cereal as well if you'd like."

"How can I turn that down." He hands her the bowl and she swings her legs against the cupboard doors. He kisses her forehead and moves round her to whisper to Sophie, "You know that I wanted to take her to school."

Sophie pours out a cup of coffee. "I don't think you're in any fit state to drive her there and back. You've been up for hours."

"I still have the car and driver Henry gave me."

"That will just draw attention to her." Her nose wrinkled. "Also, you would have to have some nerve to use that when you can't even be bothered to support them, because let's face it that's why they gave you the car."

Neither of them notices that Annie has reached for the newspaper and has turned it round, flicking it over to the front page.

"I don't think they're going to care if I use it for the school run, they have bigger things to focus on."

"Which you should be helping with, you can't just claim the perks."

His shoulders draw back. "Believe it or not I've yet to find a perk to my sister being shot," he hisses.

Annie slurps her cereal, paying no attention to her parent's quiet conversation, her attention caught by the picture of her aunt on the front page. She sounds out the headline out loud. "McCord shot. Hit in chest in assas…assas." She frowns as her Dad snatches the paper out of her gaze. "Hey!" She protests. "I was reading that. It was about Aunt Lizzie."

"I don't think it's a good idea that you read that," Will tells her.

But the words are already sinking in, and Annie frowns, tiliting her head to one side as she thinks about the words she has read. "Did someone hurt Aunt Lizzie?" she asks.

Will doesn't know how to answer, his attention caught by the pictures on the front page. There's two of them, the smaller one is her standard press photo. But the main picture is her in the park, it must be a still from that damn video. The shooter at the corner of the picture as she stands with her back to him, oblivious to what awaits her. McCord shot! The headline blares at him, the sub heading underneath declaring, Hit in chest in assassination attempt.

Sophie notices the slackness of her husband's jaw and the glaze that's settled over his eyes. She moves to stand in front of their daughter and pushes a strand of hair off her forehead, her fingertips caressing her skin softly as she does so. "They did, darling."

"Is that why she's sick?"

Sophie nods. They had wanted to protect Annie from this part of what had happened, but it was too late for that now. "It is, but the doctors are working really hard to make her better."

"Did they catch the bad person?"

"They did. The police arrested him and he can't hurt your Aunt Lizzie again. I promise you."

Annie nods but still looks perplexed "Why did he hurt her? Aunt Lizzie is nice."

Will catches that Sophie has hesitated in her answer and he can't blame her, how do you explain any of that man's thinking to a six-year old. He steps in. "Sometimes people do bad things for no good reason. And we don't ever really understand why."

"Oh." She thinks over what she's been told and Will braces himself for more questions about what happened, but instead she asks him, "Did it make Aunt Lizzie sad?"

"Aunt Lizzie is…well she's been asleep since it happened so that the doctors can make her better."

"Does it make you sad?"

"It does," he admits.

"It makes me sad," she tells him. "But I'm glad that she has you to sit with her and make her feel better."

"I told you, Annie, she's sleeping."

Annie gives a shrug. "But it's still nice for her, it's not nice to be alone if you're sick."

Sophie intervenes. "Ann, we better go and get you ready for school." She lifts her from the counter, taps her shoulder and tells her, "Go and brush your teeth, I'll come and help you with your hair." As Annie runs from the room, Sophie glances at her husband and asks him, "Changed your mind yet?"

"Lizzie isn't alone. Henry's still with her," Will replied bluntly.

Sophie gives a sigh and shakes her head as she walks away.

* * *

Daisy can hear the click of the cameras and the whirs of the video cameras as she takes the podium. Normally her press conferences are a rather more sedate affair, but since the Whitehouse, or rather Russell has decided that the State department should present all the updates regarding the Secretary, the room has been teaming with journalists looking for a new angle or bombshell to pepper their stories with.

She clears her throat softly, and despite being well practised at this, her heart thumps in her chest, her stomach fluttering. Although to be honest the latter could just be morning sickness. Nope, she can't think about that just now, that particular issue needs to go back into its box until she has the headspace to deal with it. Lifting her head and focussing on the spot at the middle of the room, she begins to speak. "Good Morning everyone. I'd like to start today's briefing by giving an update on Secretary McCord. Her condition remains serious but stable and her family continue to ask for privacy at this difficult time. I can also confirm that a Raymond Merchant has been charged with the attempted murder of Secretary McCord, he is currently remanded in custody and we are expecting the initial arraignment to take place tomorrow. The FBI will be requesting that Mr Merchant is held in custody until his trial. Now for other business of the day-"

A hand clasping a tape recorder shot up and Daisy was interrupted with, "Is it true that Secretary McCord's children were called back to the hospital last night due to a deterioration in her condition?"

Daisy frowns. "As I said, Secretary McCord's condition this morning was confirmed to still be serious but stable. I can't comment on her treatment overnight."

Another hand shot up, another voice calling out, "Can you confirm if Secretary McCord suffered from a cardiac arrest in the early hours of this morning."

Her breath catches on a sharp inhale, they are catching her out and she knows it. "I have no information regarding that, so no, I can't confirm it."

Another question is volleyed at her from the other side of the room. "What about the rumours that Raymond Merchant was a former student of Secretary McCord, does the department have any comment on that?"

"This department cannot comment on an ongoing investigation," Daisy tells them firmly. "Now if we can move onto today's agenda-"

"Is it true that last night's cardiac arrest was in fact the second one that Secretary McCord has suffered and that she has yet to regain consciousness following the shooting and that despite your departments claims that she is in a stable condition that she in fact remains on full life support."

Daisy held up a hand. "This department has never downplayed the seriousness of Secretary McCord's injuries, but she is in a stable condition at this time. I will not comment on exactly what that entails as like all of us, Secretary McCord is entitled to privacy in regard to her medical care."

"Secretary McCord is a public figure, if-"

Unable to help it, Daisy interrupts the speaker. "As the Depute Secretary has taken over her full role at this time, it means that her condition has no bearing on the ability to do her job. Therefore, despite being a public figure and a representative of this government she is entitled to privacy in this matter."

A flurry of questions continues to be thrown at her and for that moment, Daisy hates her job.

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

"What just happened in there? How did they manage to ambush us like that? Daisy asked Nadine as she stepped back into the private corridor off the briefing room.

Nadine's lips are pulled into a straight line. "Clearly there's been a leak of information somewhere along the line."

"But is true?" Daisy asks. "Did she deteriorate?"

Walking along the empty hallway as they talk; Nadine gives a jarred shrug. "I'm not sure. We haven't been told much. Russell Jackson wants us to keep it as nothing to see here, move along."

"That only really works if there's nothing to see." Daisy's voice is exasperated as she continues, "We are her staff, we care about her and if he wants is to project that image then fine, but surely we have the right to at least know whether it's the truth."

"I agree." Nadine cannot help but give a small smile at Daisy's look of surprise. "Don't look so shocked, it does occasionally happen. But I agree, we should have a head's up if there's something potentially damaging in the woodwork."

"So why didn't we?"

"Could be a number of reasons. As far as I know the Whitehouse updates are basic in order to protect her privacy. She was stable last night, and she was stable this morning, they might not have asked anymore questions."

"And what they're saying about the shooter, is that true?"

She gives an irate sigh. "I don't know," she admits. "But that we should have been told, because if the press knows it then I can guarantee Russell Jackson does as well. Believe me when I tell you that I'm on my way to phone his office to rake up hell over that one. He would have known that that would have leaked and we should have been equipped to deflect or explain it."

"Just being prepared for it would have been nice," Daisy grumbled. They draw level with the elevator doors. "Do you think she's going to be ok?" she asks after a few seconds.

Nadine jabs the button. "I wish I had an answer to that, but honestly." She looks up, her brown eyes meeting Daisy's. "I don't know," she admits. "You know as well as I do that more often than we'd like there's truth to the information the press throws at us. And if that's the case," she lifts her shoulders in a soft shrug. "Then I really don't know."

"But they're telling us that she's stable."

"But serious," Nadine reminds her. "So, I don't think it's quite as simple as we'd like it to be."

"Blake did say they weren't sure if she'd recover. Maybe we should have asked what that meant."

"Maybe, or maybe he didn't want to talk about it."

The elevator doors open with a ping and Daisy is grateful to see that the space is empty. They both step inside and Daisy fold hers arms across herself, her briefing folder resting against her stomach. "Is he coming in today?"

Nadine gives a brief nod. "He is, he was taking breakfast to the McCords."

"That was nice of him."

"It was," Nadine confirms. She glances Daisy. "I know you want answers, and if he wants to talk then fine, but try not to interrogate him."

Daisy looks startled. "I wouldn't."

"Maybe not on purpose, but feelings are running high." Nadine pulls the sleeve of one of her suit arms down straight with the opposite hand. "And, whether we like it or not, we have a job to do. We need to keep this department running until she's back."

Daisy gives a nod of agreement as the elevator doors open on the seventh floor. It doesn't escape her notice that despite their conversation, Nadine still speaks as though it's a certainty that Elizabeth McCord will return to them.


	26. Chapter 26

Awareness comes in fleeting intervals that only last a few seconds at a time, but to Elizabeth those moments stretch out endlessly with no respite in sight. Lights flicker and dance beneath her eyelids, which are heavy and even when she tries to open them, they stay closed. She feels like she is pinned down, a leaden weight on her chest and her limbs don't obey her instructions.

She can hear voices at times, but they are muffled, they sound as if she's underwater and she's unsure who any of them belong to. She hears other noises, odd beeps, a rushing noise that echoes insistently in her ears. At other times she is aware of touch, she can feel someone holding her hand, touching her face. At one point she felt herself lurch sideways and her stomach gave a sickening twist, as hands gripped her shoulder and hip, until just as quickly as it happened, she felt herself back on her back again.

Her lungs feel tight, she can breathe but it's like someone else is controlling her and she hears the smallest click whenever she inhales before a rush of air forces it's way in, her chest burning at the effort of expanding with it. It's not her breathing; not really, it can't be because this isn't natural.

Then there is the pain, mostly low and insistent, but at times sharp and unyielding, as if someone has wrapped her in barbed wire. Then she'll hear another click and whir and the pain will fade but her awareness goes with it for a time.

She has flashes to Iraq, to the weight of Fred pinning her to the floor, the smoke and debris whirling in the air and burning in her lungs, and there are moments where she thinks she might be back there. She had thought she'd left, but her other memories seem blurred and she can't place them in time, so maybe she's always been here; trapped.

The touch at her hand is at times is almost comforting, but it's not enough and when her awareness slips away it's almost a blessedly relief.

* * *

The ward is busy now, the sun streams in through the large square windows and the buzzing of the harsh fluorescent lighting is gone. Outside Elizabeth's room is awash with noise, the chatter of staff as they move between beds, the clunk of the linen trollies wheels when they're pushed up and down the ward and the sharp ringing of the ward phone are now layered on top of the beeps from multiple machines.

Her security has changed over, Henry could hear their low mumbles as they completed their handover in muted tones and he even managed a small smile and a wave when the night shift ducked their head in to say goodbye. Normally he takes the chance to get to know their security, he had always wanted them to feel welcome, but he's now so tired that they're just an endless parade of black suits and sombre expressions and he's not sure he can tell one from the other.

His coffee cup is abandoned next to him on Elizabeth's patient locker. The paper napkin that encased his bagel and breakfast pastry is scrunched up next to it, a light scattering of crumbs catching the light. Elizabeth's new nurse is eyeing it as she scrubs at the bedside table with a detergent wipe, the strong artificial soapy smell burning Henry's nostrils. She hesitates for a moment before she asks, "Is it ok if I throw that out? Only if you're done of course."

He scrambles to his feet. "Sorry, I'll get it," he tells her. In his haste to gather it all up, he knocks the cup over, and it clatters against the wooden surface. He can't supress the sigh of irritation, not at her, but at himself. Even simple tasks seem to be beyond his capability at the moment.

She offers a reassuring smile as she bustles around the bed, taking the rubbish from him as she tells him, "Don't worry about it, I just like to give everything a tidy up throughout the day, it's easier to clean as you go." She bins the items and wipes across the locker, catching the crumbs in her outstretched hand.

Henry watches her throw the wipe and the crumbs in the bin before she washes her hands. She pulls Elizabeth's bedsheet straight, the small creases disappearing with the movement. He drops back into his seat, checks the clock again, as he has done every few minutes, watching the hands creep towards nine-am. He feels nervous, jittery, like he's about to go into an exam that he didn't study for. "Do you think the ward round will be here soon?"

She gives a nod as she organises the paperwork, laying it neatly out across her table. "They should be starting soon, and they normally review the patients who they're considering extubating first, so you shouldn't need to wait long."

He gives a nod, his eyes drifting to the clock again, his lips thinning as it sinks in that Will isn't going to come back. He had hoped that Will would turn up for this, that he would have stalked back in here looking slightly sheepish but pretending as though nothing had happened, that he'd just needed a break. Henry's hand clenched into a fist as he fought against his welling frustration, he couldn't believe that Will could really just walk away from Elizabeth, without so much as a backward glance. As scared as he had been throughout all of this, he had never once considered running. Elizabeth needed him here.

Reaching out he stroked her cheek again and for a brief second he almost thinks he sees a shadow of a frown dancing across her features, but it's gone in a second and he tells himself it's a play of the light. Henry gives a soft sigh, his eyes drifting to all the machines that surround them. He doesn't understand most of this stuff and it would have been helpful to have Will here, at his shoulder, to explain what it all meant, what it really meant for Elizabeth. He swallowed against a lump in his throat as Will's words floated around his brain. She shouldn't have survived the surgery. He had hidden that for hours, no doubt trying to protect them from that truth. It was part of the Will Adams enigma that one moment he was determined to protect his family, whereas the next he could turn and walk away. Run away, Henry corrected himself, the last few hours had shown him that Will couldn't handle what he perceived to be his own failure and if confronted with the possibility of it, he'd run.

Henry's foot tapped against the floor as he pushed his thoughts about Will to one side, he had enough to think about right now. His knee shook as he waited on the doctors, he was afraid of what they would tell him, and he was afraid that what they will tell him will muddle in with the rest of his thoughts. He considers whether he should write it down, then he can look it up later, but then if it's bad news then it's forever there for him in black and white.

He presses down on his knee, trying to stop it from knocking against the bed, the jittering of his leg a mixture of nerves and potentially too much caffeine. He's needed the caffeine to stay awake, to keep his brain functioning through the lack of sleep but combined with the adrenaline of the night's events it's made him shaky, left him struggling to focus. He worries he'll miss something. It would have been helpful to have Will here, he thinks again.

Stevie's expression flashes across his mind, the disappointment and confusion set into her features as she watched her Uncle leave. Then later he'd seen her brow furrow in consternation when she'd come back into Elizabeth's room, the tremor of her fingers before she had furled them into her hands. He was worried for her, she was so like Elizabeth, she would take all of this onto herself, push the stress and the strain down until it burst out of her.

He hoped that she was asleep, that they all were, that they were tucked up in their beds, dreaming of something pleasant that was a million miles away from here, from what felt like a living nightmare. Henry's grip tightened on Elizabeth's hand and he brushed a kiss across her knuckles, praying that the day would bring good news.

* * *

Nadine tapped her pen agitatedly against her opposite palm, eyeing the corridor through the large glass wall that enclosed her office as she waited. She didn't wait long, could hear the hurried, irate clomp of his footsteps as he grew closer. It was funny, she mused, how sometimes you could tell exactly who was coming to speak to you based on their footfall.

She quirked her head in an expectant greeting as he flung the door open and it rattled against the opposite wall. "Ah, Russell, there you are."

He looked mildly perturbed that he hadn't caught her off guard and he hesitated for a second in her doorway, before clanging the door shut behind him. "You make it sound as though you were expecting me."

Nadine gave a small smile. "Your secretary mentioned that you had left for the State Department and I admit that I presumed that in the absence of the Secretary, you would find your way to my office."

Russell gave a snort. "If she's giving out warning calls, then I need to have a word with her."

"Not necessary, I phoned looking for you. I wanted…a word," she phrased it carefully, having had a few minutes to quell her irritation at being left in the dark. "And she merely informed me that I wouldn't need to wait long."

As he dropped heavily into the seat opposite her desk, Russel leaned back, his arms thrown outwards, a gesture of impatience as he asked, "Well, what did you want to speak to me about?"

He was trying to look relaxed, but Nadine could see the tense set of his shoulders, the small, thin blue vein standing out in stark relief against his pale forehead, the bob of his Adam's apple. She mimicked his relax pose, crossing her legs as she twirled her pen around her fingers. "I imagine the same thing you came here to harass us about. That disaster of a press conference."

The ghost of a terse but amused smile crossed Russell's lips. "Great minds really do think alike."

"Perhaps, but I'm going to guess that we are going to differ on who's to blame."

"I told your press secretary-"

"Daisy," Nadine reminded him.

"I don't care what her name is," he snapped back. "I care about how she does her job."

"I felt, given the circumstances that she did her job very well."

He ignores her, carrying on with his previous thought. "I told her that I wanted this downplayed, and what I witnessed was her making it look as though the Government, and your department in particular, doesn't have a clue what they were talking about. We looked incompetent and God only knows there's been enough of that the last twenty-four hours."

Nadine's eyes flashed dangerously, and she felt a surge of irritation that she forced herself to swallow back down. "Well, considering that neither Daisy, or myself, had a clue about most of what was thrown at us, I'm not surprised it played out poorly. Although, as I said, I felt Daisy did very well to stay so controlled. She minimised as much as she could."

"I'll admit that playing the Secretary is entitled to her privacy card might have deflected some of it in the conference, but in reality, it's only feeding the fire that she's sicker than we're letting on."

"And is she?"

Russell made an annoyed tsk sound. "She's serious but stable," he repeated.

Nadine rolled her eyes. "Well why don't you conduct a press conference and see how far you get on that remark."

He levelled a finger at her. "It's not my fault that's how the hospital describes her condition."

"People who are stable don't tend to have cardiac arrests." She raised an eyebrow. "Or is that not true?"

At that, he had the grace to look slightly abashed. "We didn't know about it. The update was brief, serious but stable, same as last night, and it was assumed that meant there had been no changes in her condition overnight. Further proof that there's merit in the old saying about assuming anything."

Nadine felt her stomach give a sickening twist at his confirmation. "But she's stable now?"

Russell gave a short nod. "She is, but still sedated and ventilated."

"Have you seen her?"

"No." Russell's eyes flickered away, looking out the window for a few seconds as he replied, "I went to the hospital, spoke to Henry, but I didn't go in to see her. It felt intrusive."

"I tell myself that's why I haven't gone," Nadine admitted. "But I think that might just be a cover, that really I don't want to see her like that." She gave a small shrug of her shoulders. "No-one likes to be reminded just how fleeting life can be, to be confronted with their own mortality." The pen twirls elegantly between her fingers again. She thinks about how less than twenty-four hours ago, Elizabeth had leaned in her doorway, a smile across her face, excited for lunch. She feels winded when she thinks about it, about how quickly the world had tilted on its axis. "So, the more I think about, the more I think that I'm just being cowardly," she concludes. Her gaze meets Russell's. "How is Dr McCord?"

His lips thin. "Hurt, angry, just what you'd expect him to be. We need to manage the press on this."

"Then you need to share information with us," Nadine pointed out. "We can't manage anything if we're flying blind. So is it true, was he a former student?"

"That's part of the investigation," he reminds her. "We can't share that with the press."

"It's not so we can share it, it's so we can prepare for it being thrown at us."

"Anything I tell you has to be limited to a small group, there can't be any leaks because there's a good chance that a lot of it is going to form a case for the prosecution and we can't be seen to trying to sway public opinion."

Nadine frowned. "He was caught red-handed, surely he'll plead guilty."

Russell shook his head. "Got word this morning that he won't plead to first degree attempted murder."

Looking perplexed, Nadine remarked, "Well that seems an odd decision."

"I don't understand his thinking, but our opportunity to convince him to plead is slipping away and all that does is extend this news cycle. This could go on for months."

"And nothing will convince him to plead?"

"The evidence is damning but he won't accept that. There's no other leverage I can use." He chooses not to mention his conversation with Henry McCord, he is tired of running through it in his own head and he sees no benefit to discussing it now. He sighs, he's exhausted already, the thought of another day of this saps him of his energy. It's on days like these he looks forward to retirement. Instead, he squares his shoulders and tells Nadine, "I'll go through what we know, but our plan, our message is the same. There's nothing to see here."

"With respect, I don't think that's going to work."

"Maybe not, but I'm not going to feed this media frenzy. The McCords deserve their privacy, speculation is just that and the press will get tired of it. We give them something and they'll run with it."

Nadine considers his words and then nods. "Ok, but I want the full story."

* * *

Jessica Mitchell pulls out her reading glasses in preparation for ward round, pushing them up her nose as she surveys the crowd of interns that are gathering around the nurse's station. She hears the doors to the unit click open and sees Dr Charles Reynolds sweep into the unit, looking slightly harangued. He's late and even though it's only by a few minutes, it isn't like him. She leans against the raised desk, folding her arms across herself as she asks, "Everything alright?"

"Fine, traffic was a goddamn nightmare," he mutters.

"You need a few minutes before we start?"

"No, I have surgery in just over an hour, so I'd like to get this done."

"Ok. Can I suggest we start with Secretary McCord." It is statement of intent rather than a question and Charles merely nods his agreement.

The interns trail them into the room and Jessica can feel the steady gaze of the security detail assessing them as they step into the room. The husband is present, which is unusual for ward round, and he jumps to his feet when they enter, his frame tense, rigid and given the night he's had, Jessica can't say she blames him for looking so wary at their arrival. She steps forward, her hand outstretched. "I'm Dr Jessica Mitchell, lead attending anaesthetist within the unit today."

His handshake is firm, his palms cool. "Henry McCord," he tells her. His gaze flickers to his wife and back again. "What's the plan for today?"

"Well I'm going to have a discussion with my colleague, review the charts from last night and then have a listen to Elizabeth's chest."

She pauses to let Charles chime in, this isn't their first rodeo and they're well practiced in letting the other proffer their opinion. He takes the cue, his smile is warm, easy, a million miles away from the harassed look he wore only a few minutes ago, his professional mask firmly in place. "Dr McCord, I'll review Elizabeth from a surgical angle, whilst Dr Mitchell will consider her ventilation and sedation levels. As this is a teaching hospital, we may ask questions of our interns. Once we have done this then we will be able to discuss any options or decisions with yourself. I understand it may be frustrating to listen to this, but I promise we will keep you updated."

Jessica picks up the ventilator observation chart in one hand, scanning it carefully. The other hand begins to sift through the slips of paper with the blood gas results on them. "Update," she instructs the interns.

One steps forward, clearing their throat nervously. "Secretary McCord is twenty hours post-surgery to repair damage to the right ventricle and left ventricular apex, cardiac tamponade also found and drained. Initial post-operative period uneventful, blood tests showed a low Hb and so two units of blood were transfused, with furosemide being given during the second unit with a good response. Although initially Secretary McCord managed well on minimal supportive settings, these gradually increased, and left lung sounds diminished. Prior to having an investigative chest x-ray, she showed signs of a tension pneumothorax, unsuccessful needle decompression carried out and there was a subsequent cardiac arrest. Finger thoracotomy carried out and spontaneous circulation returned, however there is a fracture to the 6th anterior rib on her right side caused by compressions. Chest drain now in situ in the left side. An hour post-arrest, blood gases were repeated and FiO2 was dropped to 30%, subsequent gases show she's managing well on this. Tidal volumes are good, and all breaths are being triggered spontaneously."

"And the drains?" Charles asks, studying the recording charts for them.

"Minimal output from the mediastinal drain. Both chest drains patent, bubbling and swinging," the nurse, Ruth, supplies.

"Any concerns about the surgical wound?"

"None, dressing was changed this morning, no inflammation and no strike through on the current dressing."

"Good." He glances back at the bed and remarks. "I'm happy for the mediastinal drain to come out, but I think given the volumes and the latest x-ray that both chest drains should stay in."

"I agree," Jessica tell him.

"Opinions on ventilation?" Charles asks her.

She swings the stethoscope from around her neck and steps towards the bed. "Elizabeth, I'm going to listen to your chest, this might feel a bit cold." She listens to the different pitches, assessing them based on where she is at the lungs, before she straightens, slipping her stethoscope out her ears and back down around her neck. "All lung sounds present, left lower is a bit quiet still, but that's to be expected. Chest sounds clear." She walks back to the charts, glancing over them again. "I don't think we should move straight to extubating, given the complications of last night. But given that we have bi-lateral chest drains and a rib fracture, I really don't want her on the ventilator longer than she has to be. I think we do a sedation vacation and if that's successful then we move to a spontaneous breathing trial and all being well we could extubate this afternoon."

"Good." Charles glances at the interns. "Why don't we want prolonged periods of artificial ventilation?"

"It increases the risks of ventilator acquired pneumonia," one chants back.

He nods. Considering the chart one last time before he waves his fingers at them, dismissing them from the room, sending them to wait till they move until the next patient.

Jessica scribbles down her instructions for the day and looks back at the husband. He is surveying them nervously, his arms crossed over himself, his thumb rubbing the corner of his mouth in an agitated movement.

It is Charles who speaks to him first, his tone is calm, reassuring but it does little to soothe his obvious anxiety. "Dr McCord, Elizabeth's progress from last night is encouraging and from a surgical point of view she is doing well."

"So, she can come off the machine? You can wake her up?"

Stepping forward, Jessica tells him. "Your wife is making a significant effort with her breathing and is requiring minimal support, which is encouraging. But the drains in her chest and the broken rib combined with our concerns regarding any…complications from the first arrest mean that we want to tread carefully. Our initial plan was to withdraw both sedation and extubate quickly following this, but I think there's a high chance that could fail."

His foot taps against the floor in an uneven rhythm. "What does that mean?"

"It means that I'm going to separate out the tasks and assess Elizabeth to ensure that when we come of the ventilator, we won't end up going back on it again. I've left instructions for the nurses to stop Elizabeth's sedation. She will still be sleepy, but if she's calm and responsive following this then we will replace the ventilator with oxygen, allowing Elizabeth the chance to breath by herself and for us to assess how she manages. If she passes that then we will remove the breathing tube. I want to be clear that we still hope to get her off the ventilator today and that doing so is our priority, but it needs to be safe and I feel this is our best option."

He looks exhausted, his mouth gives a nervous twitch as he asks, "What if she doesn't manage breathing on her own?"

"Then we return her to the ventilator but look at keeping her sedation at a reduced level, which would keep her more orientated to her surroundings and we repeat the trial tomorrow."

"So, she might not come off this today?" He gestures at the machine behind him.

Jessica hesitates for a second. "It's not a guarantee," she tells him honestly.

"The younger doctors said something about pneumonia if she's on it for too long, is that a possibility?"

Her eyes meet his. "It is. The injuries she has sustained put her at high risk even if she wasn't on a ventilator. She can't breathe as deeply and she will find clearing her chest painful, but what we know is that because of the artificial airway, the risk of pneumonia gets higher with every day of mechanical ventilation."

His eyes flicker shut for a second, his fist clenches momentarily and Jessica can see he's trying to collect himself. His brown eyes fix back onto hers again. "But this plan, it's likely to work?"

"There are no guarantees, but looking at your wife's charts, I think there's a high chance of success."

He gives a humourless laugh. "You know, just for once I'd like someone to be able to guarantee something."

"I'm sure you would, and I wish I could give you those guarantees, but I'm afraid that's not how medicine works."

"No, I'm beginning to catch onto that." He gives a sigh. "How long until she starts to wake up?"

"She should start to show signs of responsiveness within the first half-hour of us withdrawing sedation. Once the surgical drain has been removed, we'll stop the sedation and review from there."

"Ok." He nods. "Thank you for taking the time to talk to me."

"Not a problem."

She and Charles turn to leave together. As they step out of the room, they both alcohol gel their hands and his voice lowered he asks her, "Chances?"

"I think we have a good shot, she was fit and healthy prior to this, but," she gives a shrug, "you know as well as I do that nothing is a certainty."


	27. Chapter 27

**This chapter is a bit of a change for me. The points of view overlap but hopefully it runs together ok.**

* * *

Elizabeth feels the fog clouding her brain begin to lift, that fleeting sense of awareness lengthens, and she fights to hold onto it. Her eyes still feel heavy and she can't open them, but she can move her fingers and she flexes them experimentally. Someone grips at them in response and she hears a low rumble of a voice, but it sounds like they're underwater, so it isn't of any comfort to her.

Her mind races, all she can think about is Iran. She remembers the dust and the smoke, the feeling of being trapped as the weight of Fred's body pinned her to the floor. She can't focus, she has flashes of memories that she thinks took place after Iran but then it's like she never really left there. Her lungs fill with blasts of air that she has no control over, and her chest is burning. There's something in her throat, scratching at it. She moves her mouth and feels something there, it's an irritant and she wants it gone. She moves her fingers again, feels the hand around them squeeze but she doesn't want that, doesn't know who is gripping at her or why, what she wants is this thing away from her mouth.

Her eyelids finally flicker, and she sees a flash of white and bright lights. She blinks again and sees the same, but she's so tired she can't quite keep her eyes open. The low, rumbling voice is back, a squeeze of her hand and a caress at her cheek. She winces, twisting her neck to turn her face away and just that small movement causes a sharp pain to sear through her chest.

"Elizabeth. Elizabeth can you hear me?"

It's a female voice this time and it cuts through the fog. She blinks, sees a smile, the flash of blue fabric. She hears her voice again but ignores it, keeps her eyes closed. She needs to think and this is wasting the little energy she has.

She was in Iran, she thinks again, she must still be there because it's the only thing that makes sense to her.

* * *

Henry feels his heart leap into his mouth when Elizabeth's eyes open, it's only for a brief second but he feels the spark of joy that rushes through him at the sight of her blue eyes. He sees her forehead crease into a frown. He squeezes her hand and strokes the smooth skin of her cheek. "Elizabeth, Babe, I'm right here, it's ok." To his surprise her reaction is to wince, and he sees her arch away from him, her face contorting in pain as she does so. "Elizabeth?" He queries softly.

Her nurse for the day, Rebecca, has moved her stool and table so that she is perched next to Elizabeth's bed. Her eyes take in the scene and then she stands, leaning over Elizabeth and asking, "Elizabeth, Elizabeth can you hear me?" Elizabeth's eyes flicker again, another second and Henry can see the haze across his wife's cerulean blue eyes. She seems to stare sightlessly at the nurse for a moment before her eyes close again. The nurse softly calls her name again, "Elizabeth, open your eyes if you can hear me." She doesn't react this time.

Henry bites the inside of his cheek, fear twisting at his stomach, his grip tightens on Elizabeth's hand and her arm gives a small twitch and for a moment he has the horrible sensation that she wants to pull her hand away from him. "Is this normal?" he asks Rebecca.

Her gaze turns away from the monitor and she gives him a reassuring smile as she replies, "The sedative is working it's way out her system, she won't wake up right away."

"She flinched though, when I touched her face."

"She's been through a lot, and we'll need to orientate her, she might not know she's in hospital."

Henry nods and looking back up at the screen, he asks, "How are her numbers?"

"They're up a little bit, but we expect that when we're reducing sedation."

"Ok." He lets out a shaky breath but the tendrils of unease that have wrapped themselves around him don't seem to loosen their grip and he continues to watch his wife for any signs of change. When those changes come, they come gradually. Another few minutes and her eyes open again, still hazy, unfocussed and her gaze darts across the ceiling tiles. This time he leans forward, over her so that she can see it's him, his thumb traces the edge of her cheekbone. "Elizabeth, you're ok," he tells her, trying to offer some reassurance.

Her eyes flicker, meeting his for a brief moment, her mouth moves uselessly against her breathing tube. She frowns at him and in the background, Henry can hear the monitor give a series of high blips that Rebecca frowns at and silences. She takes Elizabeth's hand. "Elizabeth, you're in the hospital." Elizabeth's head turns to her, she wriggles her hand out of Henry's, her fingertips slowly feeling their way across and up the bed, towards her face. As they reach her breathing tube, Rebecca uses her free hand to catch them, gently guiding them away. "You have a tube in to help you breathe. Can you blink if you understand me Elizabeth?"

She doesn't blink, her gaze returning to the ceiling above her and Henry swallows against the lump of fear in his throat. He meets Rebecca's gaze. "She didn't blink," he mutters.

Her reassuring smile doesn't quite meet her eyes this time. "She might need a bit more time."

Over the last few hours, Henry has become slightly more familiar with the monitor and the numbers it represents and he can hear with his own ears that the mechanical puff of the ventilator is faster than it was before. "Her heart rate and her breathing look much faster."

"They do," Rebecca confirms. "She might be anxious."

Henry nods, he can understand that. He's already been warned that she might not remember the shooting, that she might not know what happened and he knows that there's a good chance that his wife won't have a clue where she is.

Her eyes are roaming the room again, that haze is still there but he can see the assessing look that Elizabeth gets lurking in them. He tries again to reassure her, and as Rebecca places her hands back down softly on the starched, white bedsheet he reaches out to take one. His fingers gently caress her wrist before he starts to interlink his fingers with hers. "Elizabeth, it's Henry," he tells her. She looks at him, before looking down at where her hand is entwined with his and she frowns, pulling her hand free.

Again, she moves it up towards her breathing tube and again Rebecca catches it, telling her gently, "You can't touch that just now, it's to help you breathe." When Elizabeth's eyes fix onto hers, Rebecca adds, "If you can understand me, just give me a blink." Again, she doesn't blink, instead turning her face away and continuing her perusal of the room.

* * *

Elizabeth's chest is burning, she feels as though she's been hit by a truck, although she supposes that's been caused from Fred's body falling over her, from where he pinned her to the floor. The smoke and debris no longer hang in a heavy fug in the air. She opens her eyes again and looks upwards at the startling white ceiling, wondering where they've taken her, who's taken her.

She can hear voices, one male, one female, they talk over her head to each other, she doesn't look at them, not yet, using the time to look around the room they've trapped her in. Everything white, sterile. Somethings beeps, intermittently. She suddenly remembers the thud of boots as she lay underneath Fred as the smoke whirled in her lungs and she tries to push down the swell of panic.

The man leans over her, he has her hand again and he brushes his fingertips across her cheekbone as he tells her, "Elizabeth, you're ok."

She frowns at him, he looks so much like Henry that for a moment it throws her but it isn't him, the face that looks into hers is heavy, lined, the eyes bloodshot, the voice too ragged. Not to mention that he's lying, this isn't ok and Henry would never lie to her. She wants her husband, not this stranger. She wants to tell him to go away, but there's something blocking her throat. She doesn't want to anger him, so she wiggles her hand free from his and slowly, because she can feel his eyes watching her, she moves her hand up to whatever is blocking her throat. This time it's the woman who grabs her hand and Elizabeth realises that she now has both of them encased in hers. Elizabeth feels her heart racing, thundering in her ears.

The woman's voice is hazy, but Elizabeth is aware that she's asking her to blink. She ignores her and hears the two conversing over her head again. There's men stationed at the door to the room, she can see them and she can feel bands at her side, clawing into her skin as they pin her down.

The man is at her again, grabbing her hand as the woman lets it go, he tells her that he's Henry and she yanks her hand away, she doesn't want him touching her. She wants this thing out of her throat, she moves to pull at it, but the hand is there again. "It's to help you breathe," she's told, followed by "blink if you can hear me." She refuses to play along with them, refuses to give them warning that she can hear them talking, that she's going to make a run for it.

Slowly, but surely, the heaviness in her limbs begins to dissipate. She flexes her wrists, wiggles her toes. She lets the man masquerading as her husband hold her hand again, can hear him talking to her, but she doesn't focus on the words. Whatever is in her throat is forcing something into her lungs and getting that out has to be her priority.

The woman beside her bed turns away from her, Elizabeth can see her scribbling something onto paper and she takes her chance. She pulls her hand out of the man's and tries to move, pushing herself upwards. The bands at her chest tighten and the pain is searing but adrenaline keeps her going, she tries to pull at the thing in her throat, her fingertips graze the end of it but the woman gets there before she can, batting her hand away. Elizabeth claws frantically, managing to grab something and she pulls, she gags at the sensation of whatever she's just pulled free of her face, but it's one thing gone.

She arches and writhes, kicking her feet, trying to push them up from the bed. She can hear shouts, more feet thundering. The men in suits peer into the room but she can't see the man who is pretending to be Henry. People grab at her, pressing her down and she hits out at them, screaming soundlessly.

The intermittent beep is now a shrill noise that makes her head ache, she hears a whir and click of a machine and as she turns her head towards it, she can see the woman standing by a machine, pressing down a button. She tries to lunge towards her, to stop whatever it is that she's doing, but that fog is back and within seconds her awareness is gone, and she slumps back against the mattress.

* * *

Henry grips onto Elizabeth's hand, the look in her eyes is unnerving him, it's so unlike her, her eyes are unfocussed and yet assessing at the same time and when she looks at him it's as though she's staring through him. At least she hasn't pulled away from him again though, because every time she does, Henry feels his stomach clench in discomfort.

Rebecca is watching Elizabeth, her eyes constantly assessing. As she turns to note down the latest set of observations onto paper. Henry feels Elizabeth pull her hand from his, but as she does so, she rises suddenly, clearly trying to sit forward. Her face is contorted, her panic evident. Rebecca turns back to the bed in a flash, her hands catching Elizabeth's as she tries to grab her breathing tube. "Elizabeth, you can't pull that. Elizabeth."

Elizabeth isn't listening, she's thrashing against her, her legs kicking out. She has one hand free and before Rebecca catches it again she manages to grab the tube at her nose, pulling it out in one sharp movement and Henry can see her expression twist in pain as it comes free.

Henry's hands thread through his hair as he steps back from the bed, his chest is tight and he feels like he's watching some form of horror show play out in front of him. The detail are looking into the room and for once their expressions are unguarded and Henry can see a mixture of horror and pity on their faces as his wife writhes on the bed, fitting Rebecca with all the strength she has. Rebecca continues to try and talk to her, her voice calm and firm as she repeats, "Elizabeth, you're in hospital, I can't let you pull at that tube." Over and over again as the monitor beeps shrilly, adding to the cacophony of noise, Elizabeth's heart rate climbing rapidly.

Three other staff members race into the room and Henry watches as two of them swoop in, holding his wife as she claws at them, guarding her breathing tube and fending off any attempts of Elizabeth's to grab it. The third is Dr Mitchell, her lips are pulled into a thin straight line as she barks out, "Is the propofol still up?"

"Up and connected."

"Can we bolus it please, let's get her back under."

Henry can see red lines across Rebecca's forearm as she clicks the syringe driver at the side of the bed back on, and he realises with a start that they're from Elizabeth's nails. As the machine whirs, he see his wife finally sink back onto the bed, are body slackening and her eyes fluttering closed.

He hears Rebecca let out a heavy sigh as she adjusts the machine. Dr Mitchell eyes the scene and asks, "Can we check where the ET tube is sitting please and check the markings on the chest drains in case they've moved."

"Of course," Rebecca nods. "Do you want the NG re-passed?"

Dr Mitchell considers for a second and then nods. "I think we should and can we get the dieticians to fit a bridle to it please." She looks towards Henry and offers him a small smile, "Dr McCord, if we could step into the waiting room, we can have a talk."

She seems so calm, whilst Henry's heart continues to beat erratically against his ribs and he's resisting the urge to vomit after everything he's just witnessed. He's just thankful that the kids are at home, that they didn't see her like this, it's scared him, God only knows what it would have done to them. He follows her out of the room, traipses down the corridor beside her. She leads him back into the relative's room and Henry feels an irrational hatred for these four walls surge within him and he forces himself to beat it back down. She waits for him to sit, before she takes the seat across from him, her movements smooth and elegant even in the large scrubs that seem to swamp her frame. She presses her glasses back up her nose and clears her throat her eyes sympathetic as she looks at him. "I can't begin to imagine how difficult that was to see," she tells him.

Henry nods, his thoughts are whirring but there is one that fights to the surface and he can't quash it, he has to voice it, "Is my wife brain damaged?"

"Unfortunately, it remains too early to determine whether her reaction was a result of a brain injury. Many patients in the ICU environment suffer from confusion or delirium as a result of the trauma they've suffered or as a side effect from the medications we use to keep them sedated."

"So, this might not be permanent?"

"No, it could be temporary."

"Oh thank God." Henry sinks back into his chair, he knows this isn't a definite answer, but there's still hope to be clung to.

Dr Mitchell's facial expression however remains sombre. "Dr McCord, this will make extubating your wife much more difficult. We need to be able to assess that she's able to manage to breathe on her own and we haven't been able to do that and we can't unless she's calm. This means that we need to re-assess our plan. I'm going to prescribe a different sedative for Elizabeth, one that doesn't impact her respiratory drive, so we can carry out a spontaneous breathing trial and potentially allow us to still extubate Elizabeth later today. If this were successful, we would then wean her from the sedation."

"Will she still be confused?"

"It's possible, sometimes when we remove the ventilator and the breathing tube we can re-orientate patients to their surroundings and the confusion lifts fairly quickly."

"But sometimes it doesn't help."

"No, delirium can last for hours, days…or sometimes weeks," she admits.

"And if it's been caused by the lack of oxygen?"

"At first it might be difficult to differentiate, but with medication and intervention delirium will subside, it can also vary throughout the day. Impact from a brain injury would be more consistent."

"Right." Henry nods, the relief he felt only moments ago is gone, replaced once again by that sickening feeling of dread.

"I'm going to go back to the ward to draw up a new plan. The nurses are checking to make sure that Elizabeth's lines and chest drains are where they should be, sometimes they can become dislodged following…" She gives a soft cough. "Well, you saw it for yourself." She gets to her feet and pats his shoulder. "I'll ask someone to bring you some tea with lots of sugar, you look as though you need it."

Henry hears the door click shut behind her and he ambles to his feet, unsteady, his hands shaking and cold sweat prickling at the nape of his neck. His stomach twists and lurches and he only just makes it into the attached bathroom, dropping to his knees as his stomach empties itself of its meagre contents. His hands grip the porcelain of the toilet bowl and his eyes water. After a few seconds of fruitless retching, he sits back on his heels, the palm of his hand resting against his clammy forehead.

His eyes are watering as a result of the vomiting and they quickly turn into tears, sobs escaping him in between harsh heaving breaths. This is like a living nightmare, anytime he finds something to cling onto there's another blow. The road ahead of them seems littered with problems and potholes, Elizabeth is still fighting but she's fighting demons that he can't see or comprehend. He's beginning to wonder if perhaps he hasn't really considered just how long the road for her recovery might be. He stares sightlessly at the white tiles on the wall in front of him and realises that he's let his own anger cloud his judgement and he knows that he needs to talk to Russell.


	28. Chapter 28

Blake shifts awkwardly from foot to foot, gripping onto his makeshift sign as he peers through the mass of people currently flooding through the arrivals gate. He glances back down at his sign and only just resists the urge to roll his eyes at the ridiculousness of it, black marker pen scrawled on newspaper, and only the first name at that, because it was rather belatedly that he'd realised that he didn't in fact have a clue what Stevie's fiancé's second name is.

Blake has always prided himself on being organised, prepared for every eventuality, and never, or almost never caught unawares, but then he supposed this was the most unusual and extreme of circumstances. He scanned the crowd and hopes that Jareth remembered him from their brief meeting when the Secretary had scooped him up off the street. Blake certainly hadn't paid much attention to him, which was why he'd suddenly decided he was best to have some form of sign, because he wasn't entirely confident that they would recognise one another. He wondered again why he'd agreed to this and then remembered how upset Stevie had been, on the verge of tired tears as she dithered over what to message Jareth and whether she should just pick him up after all. Her hands had been shaking so much that she'd almost dropped her phone, whilst Jason rolled his eyes and muttered under his breath at her, and without really thinking any of it through, Blake heard himself offering to go in her place. On reflection, he also probably should have asked her to text Jareth to advise him of that change.

He hears a snigger as a passer-by glances at his sign and Blake studiously ignores them, the crowd is thinning now, and he's beginning to worry that he's missed Jareth. It was at that thought that he caught sight of a handsome, blonde man in his early twenties standing and studying the waiting crowd, clearly looking for someone. Blake let out a sigh of relief that he recognised him after all, although it did occur to him that he didn't look like Stevie's type, he was very clean cut looking, but then he supposed that explained why the Secretary and her husband liked him so much, he was neither old enough to be her father or on drugs and he knew that they considered that a very important step up. As Jareth looked over in Blake's direction, his eyebrow quirked at the sign and Blake gave it a small waggle. Jareth walked across to him. "You're Elizabeth's secretary," he remarks.

Blake bristles. "Executive assistant," he corrects him.

"Right. Sorry." He glances around behind him. "No Stevie?"

"No." Blake doesn't offer an explanation, after all he doesn't know who might be listening. "Will we head to the car? I can update you there."

"You brought a car?"

Blake's mouth twitches at the surprise in Jareth's tone and he's not sure if he's surprised or annoyed. "Yes, well given the circumstances DS were happy to provide one. I'll take you to the McCord's home and then I'll head to the office." Blake tucks the newspaper under his arm and starts walking at a quick pace, Jareth trailing him, the wheels of his suitcase rumbling on the concrete floor.

The car is only just outside the exit doors, Blake briefly wonders whether he should take Jareth's case but decides that he can manage it himself and if he's honest he's more than irritated by the secretary remark than he probably should be. Blake waits in the car's warm interior as Jareth deposits his case into the boot and then slides in across from him. "So, no Stevie," he remarks again.

"No, I offered to come in her place."

Jareth gives a rather humourless smile. "No offence, but you're not quite the same."

"Perhaps not but given the circumstances…" Blake tails off meaningfully, hoping the guy takes the hint.

Jareth clicks his tongue against the roof of his mouth in what sounds like a note of annoyance. He taps his fingertips against his knee for a second before he finally says, "I take it I can ask about Elizabeth now."

"Of course. I just didn't want to discuss it in such a crowded area, I'm sure you can understand."

"I do." Jareth flicks the newspaper that Blake had tossed onto the seat open, revealing the front page. As with every paper of the day it's headline is about the shooting, this one has managed to get a picture of Elizabeth's detail running with her to the car. It seems horribly intrusive to Blake and he wishes he'd never picked it up, but then he'd had limited options. "It's been all over the news in the UK as well." He looks up and meets Blake's gaze. "Lots of speculation."

"Well, that's what the press is good at. So, what has Stevie told you?"

"Not much, when I last spoke to her she was out of surgery but not awake yet. Stevie was upset, I couldn't get much out of her."

Blake nodded, he looks out the window watching the airport parking structures as they drive past them, needing to distance himself from what he needs to say. He can't think about who he's talking about, because he finds it all so upsetting, and it isn't professional for him to cry. "They were called back to the hospital last night, she took a turn for the worse. They've stabilised her, but Stevie hasn't slept, so I told her to go home with Alison and Jason."

"What time did she go home at?"

Taken aback by the question, Blake can't help but glance in Jareth's direction. "Um, I suppose it would have been around eight-am by the time they left the hospital."

"Only two hours ago then." Jareth sounds disapproving and Blake is thrown by his tone. Jareth catches sight of the expression on Blake's face and he rubs his forehead, letting out a sigh as he adds tersely, "I'm sorry, I just want to support her but she doesn't seem to want to let me."

"Well, I insisted that she go home, she was exhausted," Blake tells him. "And the whole family is in shock, understandably so."

Jareth's mouth twists slightly as he considers Blake's words. "Of course. I just want to help, that's all. It's why I came back."

Blake bit back that he wasn't sure what brand of helpful Jareth thought he was being right now, he seemed more pre-occupied with Stevie's actions than the fact that her mother lay fighting for her life. A few seconds ticked by before Blake told him calmly, "I think the most we can do right now is try to make sure that they look after themselves, after all she'll need them when she wakes up."

"And that's going to be later today?" Jareth asks.

"I'm not sure," Blake admits. "That was the plan last night, but like I said, there were complications and I don't know what they decided this morning. Stevie might not know either."

Jareth rubs at his chin. "What kind of complications?

"Her heart stopped, they resuscitated her but it was upsetting for them all."

Jareth gives a nod, he digs his mobile out of his pocket and checks it. "Doesn't look like she's sent me anything about it, or about you coming to get me."

Blake narrowly resists the urge to throw something at the man in the seat across from him, his tone takes on a deliberately slow inflection, as though he's explaining something particularly difficult, "Well you would have been in the air at the time and by the time Stevie was leaving the hospital she hadn't slept in twenty four hours, it's only natural that some things might slip her mind."

"Yeah, sure." His words are those of agreement, but they don't sound much like it.

Blake sits back in his seat, tired of going round in circles with someone who has clearly locked onto one point. He watches for a second as Jareth opens the paper, reading the story and Blake turns away, not wanting to see anymore of the pictures and he thinks that if Stevie is hoping for unquestioned support from Jareth's arrival, then he fears that she's going to be disappointed.

* * *

Henry sips at his cooling tea and as much as he hates to admit it, the sugary sweetness is helping with shaking in his hands, although the china still clatters noisily against the coffee table when he places it down between drinks. The door to the waiting room opens with click and he looks up, and despite having phoned to speak to him, he's still surprised to see Russell in the doorway. "I would have been happy to speak to you on the phone," Henry tells him.

"Well, when I heard you were looking for me, I felt it was best to see you face to face, after all these are…unusual times."

"They are," Henry sighs. Russell takes the seat across from him and eyes the plate of cookies that had been brought out with his tea. "Help yourself," Henry tells him, pushing the plate towards him. "I don't think I can stomach anything solid right now. I'd offer you tea but they only brought the one cup."

"This will do fine," Russell replies, reaching out and taking a chocolate one. He bits a piece off, chewing and swallowing it before he asks, "How's Bess?"

Henry's lips thin and despite himself he can feel his eyes water again. He presses his thumb and forefinger into the corners of his eyes, willing himself to stay calm. "They tried to wake her up." He shook his head. "She's confused, fighting them so they can't assess her breathing, whether it's safe to remove the ventilator."

Russell winces. "I'm sorry to hear that. What happens next?"

"They're changing her sedation; they'll do some sort of trial and see whether they can still remove the ventilator today." Henry rubs at his eyes before lifting his cup of tea back to his lips, taking another sip, using the few seconds it afforded him to compose himself before he adds, "There's a chance that the confusion could just be down to the medication."

"I hope that's the case." Silence falls and Russell takes another bite of his cookie before he asks. "Now, what can I do to help?"

Henry gives a shaky sigh. "I wanted to talk to you about the suggestion you made yesterday."

"I haven't taken it any further, I didn't mean to cause so much upset," Russell tells him. He stands by his suggestion, but it makes no sense to press that now, he saw how angry it made Henry.

Henry shook his head. "You misunderstand me." His gaze meets Russell's and he swallows heavily against the lump in his throat, his voice hoarse as forces himself to say, "I want you to arrange the plea deal."

Russell looks at him in surprise, this was the last thing he was expecting today. "You're sure?" he asks slowly.

"You were right." Henry looks away from him, his eyes fixing on the window instead. "Elizabeth doesn't need the stress of a trial." He shook his head again, he sounds ragged, on the edge of tears. "I can spare her that."

"I understand it was a stressful night," Russell replies carefully. "And with this morning's news will have caused further distress, so are you sure you've thought this through? You were so against it yesterday."

"I was angry yesterday and I still…I still don't agree with why you suggested it." Henry rubs the corner of his mouth with the pad of his thumb distractedly as he thinks through his next words carefully. "But you're right when you say that she needs time to recover and a court case isn't going to help with that."

"No, it won't." Russell agrees as he sits forward, his elbows resting on his knees. "But you know that this deal will extend to cover any outcome from this." He licks his dry lips nervously. "So, if Elizabeth dies then the plea bargain still stands. Attempted murder, even first degree doesn't result in the death penalty; for him to agree, it has to look as though it's offering him some form of protection."

Henry shuts his eyes, fighting against the nausea that twists his stomach again. "I understand." He rubs his eyes and looks back at Russell. "And he'll accept it?"

Russell gives a sigh. "I can't promise it. Yesterday I think he would have done, today there are more factors at play. Elizabeth is reported as being stable, so Merchant's lawyer may tell him not to accept. However, the press has managed to get hold of what happened last night, speculation is rife that we're concealing just how serious her condition is and that could work in our favour. But all of it is dependent on how much Merchant and his lawyer know and what they choose to believe." He shifts in his seat and taps his fingers against his knee. "I've just had word that Merchant is to be arraigned this afternoon at 2pm so I think we should still press forward with it. If he declines, then we're no worse off and if he agrees then other than sentencing, this could be done with by the end of the day."

"Do it," Henry tells him.

He gives a nod in reply, straightening his coat as he gets to his feet. "I'll go now, speak to district attorney and get them to put it all together." His lips thin into a sombre line as he takes in Henry's slumped frame, the dark stubble that decorates his jaw and the bloodshot eyes and suddenly he's glad that the press haven't spotted him; they would have a field day with the speculation about his haggard appearance. "Perhaps you should go and get some rest," he suggests.

"I won't leave her," comes the gruff reply.

"If she's still sedated, then she won't know."

"I'll know." Henry looks up at him. "I'm not leaving here until she's awake and I know what the long-term prognosis is. I'll go back into sit with her the moment that the nurses tell me that I can."

Russell takes him the determined spark that's in Henry's forthright gaze and nods. "'I'll let you know how the plea deal and the arraignment go and if there's anything else I can do, just let me know."

Henry nods, his eyes fix onto Russell's. "Thank you."

He gives him a wry look. "Don't thank me just yet," he tells him.

* * *

Ray stretches out his fingers against the wooden table, studying the dirt underneath his fingernails as the FBI Agents start the tape and record the names of everyone present in the small, box like room. He rubs at a small catch in his thumb nail with the corner of his second finger, wondering what it is they want to speak to him about. He hadn't expected to be called back into the interview room again and even his lawyer had seemed surprised at the move.

He tilts his head in curiosity as one Agent, he thinks it's Spiers, clears his throat. "Ray, when we searched your home yesterday, we discovered some street Valium."

"My client was open about the fact that he had taken these tablets prior to approaching Secretary McCord yesterday," his defence lawyer interrupted.

"He was, although he failed to mention that this wasn't a prescribed medication and that he had a fairly large stash in his bedroom."

"If you're about to try and pin a drug charge onto my client-"

The older Agent holds up his hand. "Although we have the evidence we need to seek a possession charge, that isn't our intention."

Ray's mouth twitches in the ghost of an amused smile, wondering if things are about to get interesting. "What are we here for then?" He asks. "After all I have a trial to prepare for."

"We want the name of your dealer and you to plead guilty to the first-degree attempted murder of Secretary McCord. In return, we won't pursue a charge regarding the drugs and we'll take the death penalty off the table, regardless of any changes to Secretary McCords condition."

"You mean if she dies," Ray remarks blandly, watching the two men bristle at his words. Sitting back in his uncomfortable, hard backed chair, he eyes them both in undisguised interest. "Are you expecting her to die? Because my lawyer has led me to believe that Elizabeth is stable at present." He links his fingers, bringing them up to his mouth, tapping them against his lips.

His lawyer has decided to intervene. "The death penalty has never been attached to the guilty verdict of an attempted murder. So, unless you are confirming to us that Secretary McCord's condition has deteriorated then we have nothing to discuss. My client may provide the name of his dealer for immunity against possession charges, but that's all."

"The two are part of the same deal. He pleas or we charge him with the drugs as well."

Ray gives a laugh. "Because really you're not interested in the name of some small-time dealer, you just want your case wrapped up in a neat little bow."

The lawyer places his hand on Ray's forearm, a quiet warning that he chooses to heed for the moment, and then interjects again. "Mr Merchant would be willing to provide the name in exchange for immunity to the drugs charge and would plead guilty to the reduced charge of second-degree aggravated assault against Secretary McCord."

Spiers gave an inelegant snort. "Your client walked up to the Secretary of State and shot her in the chest at point blank range. That's a first-degree felony and the fact that he did it in a public place means that we have more than enough evidence to go secure a conviction of attempted murder."

"Then we have nothing to discuss."

The older agent is eyeing him again. "That how you feel, Ray?"

Ray sucks in his bottom lip between his teeth, thinking for a moment. He doesn't particularly want to face the death penalty, but his lawyer appears confident and God only knows he's paying him enough.

"Depends," he replies after a moment. "I could be persuaded to plead, on one proviso." He ignores his lawyers confused expression.

"And what's that?" Spiers asks him.

"I will plead guilty and give you the name on the agreement that I am allowed to speak to Elizabeth, face to face."

"You're kidding?" Spiers' questions.

"I'm willing to wait until she recovers and I'm happy for her to decide whether she wants to see me here or if she wants me to go to her."

"How generous of you," Spiers mutters, half under his breath.

The older Agent, Rawlings is his name, Ray remembers suddenly, interjects again. "Ray, that's not going to happen. It's not on the table."

"Is that because she's not going to make it?"

"It's because it's a ludicrous suggestion."

Ray lets his hands fall open. "Then we have nothing else to discuss."

Rawlings' tongue runs along the edge of his top front teeth. "Final decision?"

Giving him a smile and a nod, Ray confirms, "Final decision."

"Then Raymond Merchant we are charging you with the possession of an illegal substance," Rawlings tells him, his voice gruff, matter of fact. Ray simply smiles at them both, glee beginning to bubble in his chest as he lets the reading of his rights wash over him. The drugs charge is minor, on it's own he knows he'd get a fine at most, he certainly didn't have enough for them to push for a dealing charge. So in the grand scheme of things, this is nothing.

Spiers now talks into the tape, "Interview terminated at eleven-thirty-three am." He clicks off the tape and glances across at Merchant. "Well Ray, let's hope you don't end up regretting that decision."

Ray's smile widens. "Oh, I won't. I'll see her in court after all," he informs them with a delighted laugh, unable to keep the thought that has excited him so much to himself. "She won't be able to ignore me there."

* * *

When Henry returns to Elizabeth's room, Rebecca is in the middle of clipping a new syringe driver to the IV stand, leaning her hip against it so that it's jammed on as she tightens it into place. Elizabeth is quiet, tucked neatly back under the starched white sheets, all the tubes and lines connected to her have been detangled and they've re-inserted the tube at her nose. Henry supposes that he should feel relived, but he doesn't, he feels like he's stuck in Groundhog Day every time he walks back into this room. "How is she?" He asks.

"Settled. I'm about to switch over the sedation and then once we've got the original sedative down, then we're going to switch her onto something called a t-piece, which is basically just tubing that we connect to the breathing tube and deliver only oxygen. Elizabeth would be doing all the work herself."

"Will she be awake for that?"

Rebecca shook her head. "No, but this new sedative mimics sleep more than her current one does, so it doesn't affect her breathing. She might open her eyes from time to time but she won't be properly awake."

"And how long until you try to wake her up again."

Checking the syringe one last time before she clips it into place in the machine, she replies, "If she manages ninety minutes herself on the t-piece then we're removing her breathing tube and stopping all her sedation." She gives him a smile. "So, she could be awake by mid-afternoon."

Henry nods and takes his seat again, taking Elizabeth's hand, ready to start his watch again.

* * *

Kevin slams his hand against one way window of the observation room, a growl of annoyance escaping him as he watches Spiers and Rawlings lead Merchant out from the interview room. He shakes his head, he'd wanted to get the damn plea bargain. He looks at his watch, there's only a few hours until the arraignment and he's running out of options.

"He's playing us," Deputy Director Leon Kirby remarks.

"Or he just wants some of her time." Kevin flexes his fingers against the glass. "You saw the photos, the letters, he's a man obsessed."

"Perhaps. Either way we can't give him access to her."

Kevin turns. "Why not?"

Leon gives a humourless bark. "You're kidding, right?" He takes in the serious expression on Kevin's face and shakes his head. "Never mind the fact that she's unconscious, but why the hell would we?"

"If he pleads guilty then it will help this agency save face," Kevin tells him.

"There's going to be an inquiry no matter how he pleads," Leon tells him.

"The inquiry could be closed to the public," he points out. "But there's no hope of that if there's a highly publicized court case."

Leon frowns at him. "Kevin, the guy's a loose canon, you can't seriously be considering letting him anywhere near Elizabeth McCord."

"It would be controlled, she wouldn't be in any danger."

"She wasn't meant to be in danger the first time and now look at her," Leon snaps. His hands spread as he gesticulates. "Kevin, I get it, this agency royally screwed up on this and heads might very well roll. But I honestly don't think that trying to join in on whatever Merchant's plan is is going to help us here."

"He doesn't have a plan," Kevin scoffs.

"You don't know that," Leon warns him. "Let him plead not guilty, the case is solid and he'll get a longer sentence for his lack of remorse; don't pander to him."

Kevin folds his arm across himself. "We've got some time to play with. I think I should talk to Dr McCord."

"You really shouldn't."

But his mind is made up, and he gives a decisive nod. "No, I have to. I'll keep you updated."

Leon watches him go and gives a slow shake of his head, as if this situation wasn't messy enough.


	29. Chapter 29

Russell eyes Elizabeth's staff, his fingers tapping almost silently off the wooden table as he concludes his update to them, "So that's it, that's all the information that we have right now."

It is Matt who reacts first, looking to Blake, who is currently staring down at his interlinked fingers, and asking him, "Did you know all of this?"

Blake doesn't look at him as he answers, "I knew about the complications from her surgery." His lips twist in a flash of pain. "I was there when the doctors told her family, and I knew bits from what happened last night."

"And the other stuff?" Jay asks him.

"Some of it. Knew that he'd been a student of hers, that there had been some harassment on his part." He rubs underneath his chin. "Dr McCord told the kids last night that he'd put Merchant's name forward for investigation on that basis. But I didn't know about the letters, or that he was following her."

"Why didn't you tell us?" Daisy asks him, looking hurt at his omissions.

"When I got back last night, I just wanted to forget about it," he admits. "I wanted the doctors to be wrong and I didn't want to worry anyone if it all turned out to be fine." He looks up at Daisy. "As for the stuff with Merchant." He gives a small shrug. "I suppose I thought that you'd have been told that already."

"Which we hadn't," Daisy remarks with a small huff.

Russell's sharp gaze moves between every face seated in front of him and he clicks his tongue off his front teeth. "Well you know now and I expect this to stay between the individuals in this room, you're being told this so that we can better manage the situation, not to improve the quality of gossip at the water-cooler."

Daisy looks visibly affronted as she snaps back bluntly, "We're her staff, it's our job to manage situations to give her the best outcome. We've never gossiped about her."

"With respect, these are unusual times, and you will be under more pressure than ever to provide this information," Russell points out.

Giving a shake of her head, Daisy draws her lips thinly together. "They can put on all the pressure they want," she grates out. "They won't be hearing any of this from us."

"But they will hear it in any court proceedings," Jay points out, his eyes narrowing thoughtfully as he leans forward in his seat. "Which is why you've told us, so we're not blind-sided." His head tilts as he watches Russell's expression closely. "If it weren't for that, I get the feeling you would have kept us in the dark.

Unthinkingly, Russell's gaze flickers to Nadine and back again as he admits, "I was persuaded that it would be more helpful for both the McCords, and for this department, to share this information with a select few." His eyes meet Jay's. "But we can't be seen to air this publicly, this is an active investigation, never forget that. We have to stand above it all."

"Why?" Blake asks, his face pale, his cheeks hollow as he sucks them in in a reaction to everything he's just heard. "Why can't we, for once, comment on this?" He looks around the table. "We all know he did it, the public knows he did it, so surely we should condemn him for it?"

It is Nadine who answers him, her face is calm, but the flash of understanding and sadness in her gaze soothes Blakes frazzled nerves ever so slightly. "Because the State Department can't be seen to be interfering in the criminal process, the whole point of the American justice system is that no matter who are you, or what you are accused of, that you receive a fair trial."

Matt snorts derisively, "Yeah because that _always_ happens."

"Perhaps we can save the debate about vagaries of the system for another time, "Russell cuts in. "The main takeaway is that Ray Merchant is entitled to a fair trial and that he is innocent until proven guilty."

Jay holds up a hand. "Hang on, proven guilty? I know we're talking about court cases and trials, but I assumed we meant for sentencing after he pleads."

"I'm hoping he will plead," Russell replies carefully. "But right now, it's not a guarantee. He'll be offered a plea bargain-"

"A plea bargain?" Jay interrupts, as he gets to his feet, agitated, his hand on his hip pushing back his suit jacket. "Why are we bargaining with him?"

"To spare the family a trial, I know how it sounds but we're still going for first degree attempted murder charge, he's not getting off on that. Other than that, I'm not discussing it," Russell tells him bluntly.

Jay still looks appalled. "We shouldn't need to bargain at all."

"And yet here we are, "Russell sighs irritably. "There is a lot more pieces to this, a lot more at play than just some bastard with a gun. Like it or not, a court case could unfairly damage Elizabeth McCord, and I want to avoid that if we can."

Giving a humourless smile, Jay asks, "No matter the cost?"

Russel lumbers to his feet, glaring at the policy advisor. "No, there is a limit, but we're not there yet. Now, what I want you all to do is-" His mobile rings, cutting him off mid sentence, and with a grumble, Russell pulls it out of the inside pocket in his suit jacket, jabbing at the screen to answer it. "Leon, whatever this is about, it better be urgent."

There is a pause on the other end of the line, before the Deputy Director clears his throat, "Um, it is, but you're not going to like it."

"That's no change," Russell replies as he presses his thumb and forefinger into his temples in anticipation of the oncoming headache. "So spit it out."

"Merchant says he'll only accept the deal if he can talk to the Secretary, face to face."

Russell manages to laugh, the sound harsh and grating, "Well that's never going to happen."

"Which is what he was told, but…"

Straightening like a hunter who has just spotted its prey, Russell echoes dangerously, "But what?"

"Kevin wanted to consider it," comes the admission. "Thought it was the best way of closing it all down."

Sighing, Russell rolls his eyes skyward and is suddenly thankful that Carol isn't making him wear that twenty-four-hour blood pressure monitor anymore, because it must be through the roof. "Put him on, he'll soon change his mind."

There is another awkward cough. "That's the thing, I can't," he admits. "He's already left."

"Left to go where?" Russell asks him, beyond exasperated now.

"I didn't think he was serious," Leon insists. "I thought he would go to his office, calm down and realise that it was a terrible idea."

Russell grits his teeth, his voice nearly a growl as in a short staccato he asks again, "Where did he go?"

There is a low sigh before the final admission. "He's went to the hospital to speak to Henry McCord, he thinks he can talk him round to accepting the caveat."

For a moment Russell feels as though he is suspended in disbelief at what he has just been told, he turns away from the onlookers around the table. "He what?" he hisses.

"I know, it's a God-awful idea-"

"And yet you let him go!" Russell shouts, the suspended feeling dissipating to be replaced with rage at the incompetency of those surrounding him since the shooting.

"I didn't think-"

"Damn straight you didn't think! Call him back!"

Leon's voice is slightly shakier now as he replies, "I tried, his phone is off."

"When did he go?"

"Sometime in the last half hour."

"Fuck!" Russell cuts the call, jamming his phone back into his pocket. He swivels to face Elizabeth's staff, their faces are curious but he ignores that. He lifts a finger and points it between Daisy and Matt. "I want a statement from you two, to be given by this department after the arraignment. Assume that he's pleading not guilty."

"Is that what the call was about?" Daisy asks curiously.

Russell glares sharply at her. "Partly." It's all he is going to give them as he adds, "And I meant what I said, we keep it vague. No condemnation and we have faith in our justice system, yada yada." He waves his hand at the end of his sentence. "Don't screw it up, I'll be back once I deal with something."

He doesn't wait for a reply from them before he storms from the room, the large door bouncing off it's hinges in his wake. Matt raises an eyebrow. "Anyone else feel sorry for that something who is definitely a someone?"

"Depends," Jay replies carefully. "I think a lot of people got a lot of things wrong in the last few weeks and they need to be held accountable."

"Oh, Russell will do that alright," Nadine remarks. She crosses one leg over the other. "Any questions?"

"A lot," Daisy admits, "but I think the answer to them just stormed out the door." She looks up at Nadine and gives a small wince as she adds, "No offence."

"On this occasion there is none taken." Nadine gets to her feet, gathering her papers together into a neat pile. "Now, does everyone feel able to continue with their jobs after that?" There is a mumble of agreement and she gives a nod. "Good, then lets get back to it."

* * *

Elizabeth lies still again, the sheets have been straightened, the tube at her nose has been re-inserted and its almost as though the horror of earlier never happened. The only nods to it are the blue clip now securing her NG in place and the extra syringe driver that is clipped onto the IV stand. Henry wishes he could forget it as easily, but her lurching forward is seared into his brain. He tries to soothe himself by telling himself that she woke up, that he's not been left with the worst-case scenario that the treatment plan might have changed but they're still treating her. Henry clings to the ray of hope that's given him and hopes that the new medication does what it's supposed to and brings his wife back to him.

Her hand is clasped between both of Henry's, but her fingers remain slack. There is a cough from the doorway, and Henry looks up to see Pete lingering in the doorway. The security agent looks grim, although he's had that expression since being named as Elizabeth's lead agent – a temporary role, until the investigation is complete – his lips are drawn into a thin, tight line as he advises, "Director Doherty is here to speak to you, he's asked if you can join him in the family room."

Henry shakes his head. "No, I'm not leaving her." He can't, not after earlier. It doesn't matter that her sedation is back up, that Rebecca is seated quietly at her desk, her eyes watchful, he just can't bring himself to leave his wife alone. No-one else is here, so he has to be.

Pete's expression is understanding, but he adds, "He says it's urgent."

An annoyed hiss of air escapes from between Henry's clenched teeth. "If it's that urgent then tell him to just come in."

Pete's eyes flicker to Elizabeth's form, other than family, the only person who's seen her has been the President and her security detail. It's not that Pete thinks the FBI director will leak anything, but it feels almost intrusive to let him into such a sombre situation. "You're sure Dr McCord?"

Henry give a short, sharp nod. "It's that or he waits until the next time I'm told to wait outside." He glances over to Rebecca. "Is it ok with you?"

She looks slightly surprised as the question, but agrees easily, "It's fine, Elizabeth is still sedated until the new medication is at a therapeutic level, and you're allowed two visitors around the bed."

"There you go." Henry's jaw is gritted, as he tells him, "If he feels this really can't wait then he'll need to speak to me here."

Pete nods, and steps back, talking into his radio. There is a brief few minutes of respite and Henry finds himself hoping that the man has decided against talking to him just now, but then he hears the footsteps and his stomach sinks.

Kevin appears, his tie is slightly askew and there is a faint glimmer of sweat across his forehead. He glances at Elizabeth and his eyes dart away anxiously, he looks at Rebecca and tells her, "I'll need you to wait outside."

She raises an eyebrow, informing him dryly, "That won't be possible."

"This is a confidential matter, you can't be present."

Rebecca looks non-plussed at the statement. "Secretary McCord is under constant nursing supervision, if her airway becomes compromised it is a medical emergency, I can't and won't be leaving the room."

Kevin splutters slightly at the refusal, running his hand over his head. "Well…I…we can't possibly talk with you present."

Henry cuts in sharply, "Director Doherty, I'm really not in the mood for this. My wife's health is all I care about right now, now either this is urgent enough that you need to discuss it now, in which case get on with it, or it can wait and you can leave."

Pulling his suit jacket straight, Kevin seems to gather himself and tells him, "It does need to be now, this is a time sensitive issue."

Henry waves his hand towards the chair opposite. "Then let's get on with it."

Kevin takes the seat but still glances at Rebecca almost suspiciously, wondering if should make her sign a waver, but right now he doesn't have time for that, so he tell Henry bluntly, "Merchant turned down the plea bargain."

There is a flicker at Henry's jaw, a twitch to his mouth before he replies, "Fine."

"Although there is a way to persuade him to take it," Kevin adds, he was hoping for more of a reaction from Henry, an emotion to play his suggestion on, but the man is giving nothing away. "He pleads in about three hours and this could all finish then."

Henry's gaze is suspicious. "What is it?"

"He's said he'll plead guilty if he is given the guarantee that he can speak to Secretary McCord face to face."

Henry blanches, his eyes widening his disbelief, his tone curt, brusque as he replies, "I hope you told him just where he could stick that idea."

Kevin fidgets, shifting uneasily on his seat. "With respect, I think we should pursue it."

"You think that I should agree to let the man who shot my wife in the same room as her to have a chat?" Henry remarks incredulously.

"It would be safe, controlled," Kevin tries to reassure him.

Henry's voice becomes louder, he's not quite shouting but his ire is clear, "She was meant to be safe the last time and look at her!"

Kevin's eyes flicker across Elizabeth again and he only just manages to restrain himself from wincing at her pale face, and the number of tubes that trail out from under the sheets. There is a box collecting blood next to his lower leg and he is resolute in not looking at it. "I know this is an upsetting idea, but security would be incredibly tight."

"No." Henry's voice is firm as he shakes his head. "I accepted the idea of a plea to save Elizabeth stress and upset, forcing her into a room with the man who shot her is just going to cause more."

Licking his lips nervously, "Kevin tells him, "It's the only way to get him to plead for first degree attempted murder. If we don't take it then we risk him getting away on a much lesser charge."

"He was caught at the scene, he sent Elizabeth threatening letters, he'll be found guilty."

"He's got himself an expensive lawyer, he is going to fight this. It's going to be long and drawn out, we could finish this today."

"I don't even know whether Elizabeth is going to fully recover," Henry snaps at him. "I am not serving her up on a platter."

"We wouldn't be. Just one conversation, that's all."

"No."

Kevin lowers his voice to a quiet murmur, "Then with respect, I can't guarantee that we'll be able to pursue the attempted murder charge, I think aggravated assault is more likely."

"With respect," Henry grounds out, an edge of irony to his voice, implying it is with anything but. "That's the district attorney's choice, not yours."

Able to feel his chance to brush this as much under the carpet as possible slip away from him, Kevin argues, "They'll need to look at the likelihood of conviction."

Henry's gaze is fixed on Elizabeth, his grip on her hand has tightened. "How can you sit there and have the nerve to tell me that you aren't going to push for the highest charge you possibly can? I want you to get out," he tells him lowly, his teeth gritted, his anger palpable.

"And I would second that," comes a voice from the doorway. Kevin looks up to see Russell Jackson glowering at him. Russell jerks his head towards the corridor, "You heard the man, off you go." Kevin gets up, knowing his chance is gone, and his shoulder slump further when Russell tells him, "I'll speak to you outside."

Henry doesn't look at Russell as he asks, "Did you send him here?"

Russell shakes his head as he steps into the room. "Absolutely not, he came up with that moronic idea on his own. I think we hit Ray Merchant with everything we have now, we gave him a chance and now we let the justice system handle it."

"He's coming nowhere near Elizabeth," Henry growls.

"No," Russell agrees. "We can take steps in court if she's called to give evidence, it can be via video link or behind a screen. He won't get what he wants Henry."

"I can't believe he had the nerve to come here-" Henry breaks off, looking pained at the effort.

"He won't be back, I'll ask Deputy Director Kirby to be the liaison from now on."

Henry nods. "Good."

Russell looks back towards the bed. "How's she doing?"

"Ok. The original sedation will be down in the next hour, then they're going to try her without the ventilator. They're hoping that she'll regain some consciousness but without the agitation."

"She's in my thoughts," Russell tells him. He leans forward and takes Elizabeth free hand into his giving it a squeeze. "She's a fighter, if anyone can come through this…" He sees Henry nod, his eyes watering, his gaze fixed on his wife. Russell steps back, he hadn't wanted to intrude, but when he'd heard Kevin was in the room he felt it was his only choice. "Don't worry about Merchant's plea. We'll deal with it, we'll nail him to the wall for this, I promise."

Henry gives a nod in response and Russell gives Elizabeth one last look before he turns on his heel to deal with this latest headache.

Henry waits until the footsteps have died away and digs his phone out of his pocket, he ignores the number of missed calls from Maureen, he doesn't have the energy to deal with her right now. Instead he types out a new text, his thumb hovering over the screen for a second before he hits send. Kevin's words play on his mind and he decides that he wants someone on Elizabeth's side during this and that's exactly what he's going to make sure they have.

* * *

Russell is seething by the time he reaches the family room, unable to quite believe the nerve of the FBI Director, that he was able to sit there and make such a suggestion. He flings the door open and lets it fall shut with a slam behind him. "Want to tell me what you were thinking?"

Kevin looks at him, he looks unrepentant, his jaw gritted stubbornly. "I was thinking that I wanted this wrapped up, without a media circus."

"You think a deal like that would stay quiet?" Russell asks him incredulously. "You think it wouldn't get leaked to the media?"

"It would be better than a court case."

"No, it wouldn't. It would look like we had something to hide, that's the only reason we'd agree to this." Russell glowers at him. "You didn't suggest this for the good of the McCord family, you just don't want a public inquiry."

"And you do?"

Russell ignores the question. "Ray Merchant is playing a game and we aren't rising to it. Let him play his hand, the only way he outsmarts us is if we play along with him." He raises a finger and points it at Kevin in warning, "Leave this alone, stay away from the McCords."

"This is a mistake," Kevin grumbles. "This is going to be a fiasco."

"Let me make this clear," Russell tells him firmly, "Either you step away from this willingly or I will make sure that no matter what happens with Ray Merchant that the inquiry into the FBI is public."

"That's blackmail."

"Yeah, well it's still a step up from you pulling it with Henry McCord."

Kevin looks away, he has the grace to look slightly shamefaced. "Fine," he replies after a few seconds. "I'll step back, but you're making a mistake."

Russel ignores him. He has work to get back to and so with the promise made, he leaves the room, making sure that he slams the door shut behind him, the noise echoing.


	30. Chapter 30

Will's shoes squeak on the freshly cleaned linoleum and his soles leave imprints on the pale damp grey flooring. The intensive care unit is unnaturally bright, even for the middle of the day, bright halogenic lights shining down on the occupants in each bed, whilst the beeping of machines are now almost drowned out by the chatter of staff and the near constant ringing of the telephone at the main desk. As he approaches the top of the ward, Will can see Elizabeth's security watching him. He runs a hand through his shaggy blonde hair and shoots them what he hopes is a winning smile as he draws closer to them. One raises an eyebrow, before there is a spark of recognition and he nods his head towards the single room.

Stepping inside, Will isn't surprised to see that Henry is still perched in his chair at Lizzie's bedside and that her hand is still encased in his. Will swallows against the lump in his throat, he thought he was prepared for this, but the raw emotion on Henry's face catches him off guard yet again and he feels his stomach twist. His sister remains motionless on the bed, but the tube in her throat is no longer attached the ventilator, instead thick, green oxygen tubing sprouts up from it, before curving back towards the wall, whilst the humidifier it's attached to lets out a low, constant hissing. All the other tubes and lines remain in place as they were before, a twirling, almost twisted maze of wires and cables that run up to various points. Will frowns when he sees the bag of blood that is hanging amongst the clear fluids on the IV stand.

Henry doesn't look towards him and his tone has a hard inflection to it as he comments, "You came back then."

It isn't a question, but Will answers it anyway. "Yeah, I…I realised that I'd been a bit of an idiot, so thought that I should come back…try and make it right."

"And how do you plan to go about that?" Henry asks him, his eyes flickering across to him for a moment and then back to his wife.

"Figured I would start by just turning up for a change." Will steps towards the chair across from Henry and slides down into it, his cheeks flush pink with a mixture of embarrassment and shame at his previous behaviour. He clears his throat awkwardly. "I didn't mean to stay away so long," he admits after a few seconds of almost unbearable silence from Henry.

"Really?" Henry questions, his tone disbelieving as glances at his brother-in-law again. "Because you seemed pretty clear about your intentions when we last spoke."

Will isn't used to this side of Henry, he's used to him playing peacekeeper between himself and Lizzie, used to the calm, reflective, methodical side of Henry and he isn't quite sure how to handle this, where he looks as though he's almost spoiling for the fight. He gives a nervous cough. "I was," he admits. "I was ashamed of myself for not being here for Lizzie when she needed me, and all I could think about, all I could see was my Mom." His mouth twists in pain. "Lizzie is so like her." He lets out a pained, quiet hiss as he adds, "She's the same age now…as Mom…was." He swallows heavily. "I could give you so many reasons for why I walked out, but really, when it comes down to it, they're all just an excuse to let me run away, to hide."

This time Henry properly looks at him, his brown eyes narrowed in contemplation, his voice is low and so quiet that Will almost misses the next question, "So what changed?"

"Annie, and to some extent Sophie." Will replies, managing a weak smile as he admits, "Sophie gave me one hell of a rollocking for leaving here, but it was Annie telling me it's nice not to be alone when you're sick that really hit home." His smile fades. "But I was being stubborn, I didn't want to prove Sophie right, didn't want to see that knowing look that she gets, so I decided to wait until she had taken Annie to school, I thought that I would still make it in time for the ward round."

Henry glanced meaningfully at the wall clock as he remarked, "Well you're about three hours too late."

Will winced. "I fell asleep," he tells him after a second's pause. "I didn't mean to, but I was sulking on the sofa, ignoring Sophie as she clattered around getting Annie ready for school. I closed my eyes, it was only meant to be for a minute, but then I only woke up forty minutes ago." His expression is pained, his voice dropping an almost harsh whisper. "I'm sorry Henry, I should have been here."

"It would have been helpful," Henry replies, his voice clipped.

Will shifts uncomfortably in his seat, he had expected to be forgiven almost instantly, whenever Lizzie had held him to account for his stupid decisions, it had been Henry who had smoothed over any tensions. But peacekeeper Henry was gone, a thick, dark shadow of stubble covered his jaw, and his feature were set in a glower, that was accentuated by the black shadows under his eyes. "I can't give you an excuse, because I don't have one," he admits after another long silence.

Henry looks back at Elizabeth, his grip tightening on her hand, her fingertips, which peek out from his grasp, turning white from the pressure. "Well," he remarks after a few seconds. "I suppose you came back and that has to count for something."

Will's shoulders sag in relief at the admission. "I'll make it up to you, I won't run again," he tells him, his tone is earnest and most unlike anything he's ever heard come out of his mouth before. He looks at Lizzie again. "They decided to try her on the T-piece then."

"Yes," Henry nods. "If she manages another twenty minutes then they're going to remove the breathing tube."

Will frowns at Lizzie's still form, "But she's still sedated?"

"They wanted to take away her sedation first…they did try." Henry replies. "But she was so confused, she pulled out the tube in her nose, tried to pull out her breathing tube." His face crumples, his next words sound grated. "She pulled away from me, I don't think she even knew I was here."

"It'll be the medication," Will is quick to reassure him. "Sedatives can make people confused, it's common."

"They said it could be delirium."

Will notices that the nurse's pen has paused mid scribble at Henry's words. Only for a few moments but it's a meaningful gap. He clears his throat. "It's common," he repeats.

Henry looks across at him. "Yeah, you said that, so did the anaesthetist, but she also said she couldn't rule out that it might be a brain injury."

"ICU delirium happens fairly frequently," Will attempts to reassure him. "No-one can rule out…" he tails off, unable to say the worst-case scenario. "But delirium is much more likely-"

"Don't," Henry tells him. "I know you're trying to help, but I want certainty and not a likelihood."

Will's shoulders lift in a helpless shrug. "I can't give you that."

"No, nobody seems to be able to."

His eyes flickering to the hissing tubes at Lizzie's mouth, he remarks, "But she's breathing on her own, that's a good sign."

Henry gives a short nod. "It is." When he sees Will's look of confusion his shoulders slump. "I don't mean to sound ungrateful. I just want certainty; I want my wife back." His voice cracks on the last phrase, he blinks rapidly. "But no-one can give me that."

Will's lips thin, pulling together in a tight line. "No, they can't," he admits."

Henry lets out a deep sigh. "They changed her sedation, they said that on this one they can take the ventilator away and then wake her up afterwards, that maybe she'll be less confused if she isn't ventilated."

"The tubes won't help, they make it difficult to orientate her, it might be easier after they extubate." When Henry doesn't reply, Will adds, "So they decided to give her some more blood."

There's yet another nod from Henry, and he lifts one hand to rub at his tired eyes. "After last night her haemoglobin was a bit low again, they wanted to give her the best chance to wean off the ventilator so they're giving her another unit. They'll check her bloods after this unit and decide if she needs another transfusion then."

"That's sensible." He taps his fingertip against the starched, white bed sheet. "Do you want me to talk to anybody, try and get some more information?"

Henry shakes his head. "I think they've been pretty honest," he admits. "They just can't tell me anymore right now."

"That's the most likely scenario, given the circumstances," Will admits. The clock ticks in the background and he asks, "Where are the kids?"

"At home, hopefully sleeping."

"Good." Will gives a sigh, a prickle of awkwardness creeping up and over his shoulders. "I mean it," he tells Henry. "I'm sorry and I won't run again. You were right, if it was the other way around, Lizzie would never have left my side."

"Given the circumstances, I think she'd allow you a wobble," Henry tells him. "After all, you came back, that's what matters.

* * *

Stevie stretches as she wakes, her back arching under her covers, her heels digging into her mattress as she pulls the duvet up to her shoulder's snuggling into her pillow. The room is dark, but the small rays of light that sneak past the edges of her blackout blind make her blink in confusion, she feels as though she has only just blinked from when her head first hit her pillow, as though no time has passed at all and yet weirdly at the same time it's like she's just emerged from the deepest of sleeps. Then the events of the last twenty-four hours come rushing back, slamming into her memory and her stomach gives a sickening lurch as her eyes snap open.

For a moment Stevie just stares her ceiling and then her stomach lurches again, Jareth, she thinks queasily, she isn't sure of the time and she rolls onto her side to look at the digital alarm clock perched on the side of her nightstand. When she sees it's after twelve, she sits bolt upright, pushing the covers off herself. He should be here already. She looks around her room in confusion, as though she expect him to suddenly appear, but obviously that doesn't happen.

Fumbling, she pushes her suddenly freezing cold feet into her slippers and heads for the hall. She's careful to close her door quietly, not wanting to wake Alison or Jason and then shuffles towards the stairs, her slippers scuffing almost silently across the carpet as she moves. As she gets to the bottom of the kitchen stairs she can hear the low buzz of the TV and she fixes a welcoming smile on her face as she reaches the bottom. Jareth is facing away from her, watching a daytime TV chat show and so she clears her throat softly, "Hi there, stranger," she remarks as he glances over his shoulder at her words.

Jareth gets to his feet, rounding the sofa as Stevie leans against the kitchen island. "I didn't expect you to wake up so soon."

Stevie feels groggy and almost wobbly on her feet, so she stays plastered to the spot, "I kind of jumped out of bed when I saw the time," she tells him. "When did you get here?"

"About two hours ago."

He is a few steps away from her, and yet he doesn't wrap her up in the hug she so desperately craves, instead he stops, standing in front of her, his hands digging into his pockets. Stevie's smile feels almost glued onto her face, her cheekbones aching at the effort. "You must be just as tired as I am," she remarks. "You should have come up."

"I didn't want to disturb you."

"You couldn't have done that." When he simply gives a small shrug in lieu of reply, Stevie's smile fades and her gaze skitters away nervously across the worktops. The sight of the large box of sandwiches and cakes brings a genuine smile to her face and she looks back at Jareth, beaming at him as she remarks, "Oh that was so thoughtful of you. I don't think we've got any decent, easy to grab food in the house, so this is perfect."

His gaze follows hers and his mouth gives a downward twitch as he tells her, "Blake bought them, dropped them off when he dropped off me."

"Oh…" Stevie shuffles awkwardly and then recovering herself, adds quickly, "It is his job to be super-organised."

"He's clearly good at it, able to anticipate everything you might need," there is a tinge of resentment in his voice.

Stevie's heart sinks, not even five minutes in and they're already niggling at each other, she tries to salvage the situation, fixing the smile back onto her face and saying, "Maybe, but then he didn't fly half-way across the country for me."

Jareth's tight shoulders relax ever so slightly and then he sighs, and they slump altogether, he rubs at his forehead. "Stevie, I'm sorry. I'm tired and I want to help, but I don't even know where to start."

"You're here, that's a start."

He takes a small step closer to her. "How's your Mom? Blake said she wasn't well last night."

"She wasn't, but she's stable now and my Dad said he'd call if anything changed-" she cuts off abruptly with a frown. She hasn't heard her phone at all whilst she was sleeping. "Did you text or call when you landed?" she asks suddenly.

"Of course I did, but-" He lets out a small grumble of annoyance when Stevie suddenly lurches away and scrambles through the pockets of her dressing gown, looking for her phone.

"I must have left my phone on silent. Oh God," she runs her hand through her hair, tugging slightly at the strands. She has multiple missed calls and texts, and she scrolls through them anxiously, only to see that most of them are from her Aunt Maureen and she relaxes but only ever so slightly. "Nothing from my Dad, so she must be doing ok. My Aunt has called twelve times though." She bites down on her bottom lip. "I should call her back."

Jareth steps forward and tugs slightly at her hand. "Do it later, come and get a bit more sleep."

She pulls her hand free from his, shaking her head. "I'll call her first, it might be important." She can hear his sigh, but she blocks it out, as she taps Maureen's number on her screen to return the call, turning away from Jareth as she does so.

It rings twice before her Aunt answers, and Stevie isn't sure if she sounds more irritated than usual as she remarks, "Finally someone answer their phone."

"I'm sorry, I was asleep," Stevie tells her.

"Hmmm, yes if the news is to be believed then you all had a rather stressful night."

"The news…" Stevie echoes. "What are they saying?"

Maureen sighs and there's a note of sympathy in her voice as she says, "They've said how ill she was last night, they know you had to go back to the hospital. We weren't sure if it was true and I've been trying to get hold of your Dad, but he isn't picking up."

"He's still at the hospital, he probably hasn't been checking his phone, the ICU isn't keen on them."

"Hmmm, well it doesn't matter I suppose, I'm on the bus, I should be with you in about an hour, but don't worry, I'll make my own way from the bus station."

"Wait, what?"

Maureen ignores the question and continues to talk as though Stevie hasn't interjected. "Janice and Shane are on standby and they can be here in a few hours if they're needed, but we thought it was best for me to come first and find out exactly what's happening, given the fact that otherwise we seem to be getting updates only from the media." There's a tone of censure in her voice.

"It's just been really busy," Stevie offers weakly. "Dad's been really distracted."

"Of course he has, so I can help keep you all fed and watered. I'll deal with anything practical and you can all just focus on your Mom." Despite her previous irritation, she does sound compassionate this time, as much as Maureen ever can anyway.

Stevie feels as though she really doesn't have much of an argument to make, she just hopes that this visit is less stressful than their last few visits and she also wonders how she's going to tell her Dad about this. But still it would be nice not to have to think about anything other than her Mom, because her head feels like it's about to explode when she starts to think about anything else they might need over the next few days. "I'll get the spare room sorted," she finally replies.

"Leave it," Maureen tells her briskly, "I can do that." There's a rustling and she adds, "I better go, the bus isn't the best place for you to give me an update. I'll see you all soon."

The call disconnects before Stevie has the chance to say goodbye. She presses her phone back into her pocket and turns back to speak to Jareth, tugging her bottom lip nervously between her teeth when she sees that Jareth has left the kitchen and not for the first time in the last twenty-four hours, she feels like she's managed to completely mis-manage this situation. Her shoulders slump when she realises that they haven't even hugged yet and if anything she feels more alone than ever.

* * *

Henry paces the family room; his hands feel clammy and his stomach is tied up in one big knot. "I should have stayed in with her," he mutters to Will.

"They don't let family members stay in the room when they're extubating," Will reminds him. "So, you had to wait outside."

"I should have just told them I was staying." Henry's hands are shaking, and he pushes them into the front pocket of his jeans to try and stop them.

"Not how it works. Henry, we went through this, if they need to put the airway back in it could end up being an emergency, you don't want to see that."

"Doesn't matter what I want, not right now."

Will leans back in his seat. "Have you slept at all since I left here this morning?"

"I've had ten minutes here or there." Henry pauses on his path back and forth across the room, his cheeks suck in for a second, his face is now hollow, gaunt looking in that moment as he admits painfully, "When I close my eyes all I see is what happened last night or earlier this morning, so I can't sleep, not properly." He gives his head a shake. "I'll sleep when she's awake, when she's stable." He looks towards the door. "I should go back in."

"No, you should wait for them to come and get you." Will forces himself to stop the nervous shaking of his own foot, he needs to stay calm so that he can keep Henry calm. "Look, even if the extubatation goes completely to plan, it's still not a nice thing for a family member to watch. You've been through enough Henry."

He shakes his head again. "It's not about me. She shouldn't be alone."

"She's still sedated, and she's surrounded by specialists," Will reminds him.

Henry ignores Will's words and glancing around the pale magnolia painted room, remarks, "I hate this room, I hate waiting here."

"I know, but the hospital is pretty busy now and you heard security, they can't guarantee there aren't people waiting to try and get a picture of you." He drags his gaze up his brother-law's unkempt form, he's changed into his clean change of clothes, but his shirt is crumpled, the collar on one side has folded under itself. "Believe me you don't want that just now. It will drag down your rating on TMI's list for one thing," he tries to joke weakly.

Henry shoots him a sharp glare. "Is she going to be aware of what's happening?" he asks after a minute.

"Maybe, they've started to titrate her sedation, so she might have some awareness, but she won't know that you're not there if that's what you're worried about."

"I feel like I should be grateful," Henry tells him. "She's alive, she's going to wake up, but all I can think about it how she was when they took the sedation away the last time. What if that happens again?"

"It might," Will admits. "But delirium resolves, with time."

"And if it isn't delirium, what then?"

"Then we figure it out as we go."

Henry turns to look out the window, he just wants certainty, and he wants to get back to Elizabeth. His heart beats out a nervous tattoo, she'll be breathing on her own, he tells himself and it's a step forward. For once he'll be able to call the kids with good news and despite the worry that twists in his stomach, he lets himself cling onto that sliver of hope.


	31. Chapter 31

The brake on the hospital bed is stiff and Rebecca frowns as she increases the pressure through the top her foot before the catch finally flips up with a loud clacking noise, the bed juddering with it. She steadies her hands at the base of Elizabeth's bed and pulls it out from the ventilator, watching carefully to make sure that she hasn't caught any of the equipment as she moves. She's already removed the headboard, so it least she can't catch anything on that, and it's now propped against the opposite wall. Another flick of her foot – this time downwards – accompanied by a click and the bed is secured in its new position, just as a low thrum of voices approach the room.

Dr Mitchell gives her a smile as she enters the room, asking her, "Are we ready to go?"

"Equipment is all out and I've laid out another trolley just in case we need to re-intubate," Rebecca replies, inclining her head in the direction of the gleaming steel trolley that she has placed to the right side of the bed.

"Good." Dr Mitchell deftly ties her polythene apron at her back and pulls on a pair of gloves. "And no change to her observations?"

"None, and she's still managing the t-piece on 28%."

Nodding, Dr Mitchell wiggles herself into the newly created gap between the bed and wall. Her movements are slow and awkward as she makes sure not to knock any of the multitude of wires and tubing, wincing when she bangs her hip off the corner of the ventilator. "Only on the dex now?"

Rebecca untucks the yankeur suction catheter from where she has placed it just under Elizabeth's pillow in preparation, plucking the cellophane wrapping from it as she replies, "All other sedation was discontinued prior to t-piecing." Really, they both know the others questions and answers, after all this is a frequent event for them, but they carry out the routine regardless.

"Is she responding at all?""

"She did a few minutes ago, she opened her eyes to her name."

Dr Mitchell's lips thin thoughtfully, she would be lying if she said she wasn't feeling nervous in this particular case. There is no reason for her to delay, it is as positive a picture as it can be at this point, but then she has never had to care for the Secretary of State before, has never had the eyes of the country watching. Taking in a deep, calming breath, she flexes her gloved hands, and they give the smallest of squeaks at the movement, before she nods decisively, she knows in her bones that this is the right decision. "Ok then," she breathes out. "No time like the present." She leans forward, steadying herself on the edge of the mattress as she rises up on her toes to peer over her patient. Placing a hand gently on Elizabeth's shoulder, she calls softly, "Elizabeth, Elizabeth, can you open your eyes for me?"

A small but discernible grimace settles across Elizabeth's features, her lips fluttering against the breathing tube.

Dr Mitchell curls her hand into a fist and applies a light pressure as she rubs her knuckles against Elizabeth's sternum, making sure to avoid the incision. Elizabeth's eyelids flicker at the sensation, her blue eyes looking dazedly up towards the ceiling. She lifts her voice slightly as she repeats, "Can you blink twice if you can hear me Elizabeth?"

There's a brief pause and Elizabeth's gaze darts along the room before alighting on the doctor's face. Another second passes and she gives two slow blinks and then her gaze meanders away for a moment or two before her eyes close again.

Dr Mitchell gives a small, satisfied smile, somewhat relieved that her patient is now following commands. "Right then, can you get the oxygen mask ready, let's keep her on the 28% and can you pass me the suction please, Rebecca?" She disconnects the T-piece tubing and holds her hand out. On being handed it she quickly slips it into the corner of Elizabeth's mouth, as Rebecca's fingers deftly unties the knot securing the tube. "Ok Elizabeth, we're going to take this tube out your mouth, but this is probably going to make you cough a bit," she tells her softly. Rebecca passes over the syringe, and Dr Mitchell deflates the cuff holding the tube inside Elizabeth's throat, and passing the suction tube back to Rebecca who holds it steady at Elizabeth's lips, she pulls the tube out deftly and steps back as much as she can, allowing Rebecca to rapidly place the oxygen mask over her face.

Elizabeth's eyes shoot open and she coughs violently, her hands shift on the bed, her fingers curling fruitlessly against the sheets that crinkle underneath her touch. Rebecca brushes her hand against her shoulder, her voice smooth and calm as she tries to reassure her, "It's all done, try and take deep breaths for me."

She gulps under the mask for a moment, letting out more spluttering coughs as she blinks up at the ceiling light, her expression twisting into a grimace of pain. After a second the irritation subsides, and she scowls slightly at the two faces watching her before her eyes close again.

"Saturations are holding at 98%," Rebecca announces.

Dr Mitchell wriggles back out from behind the bed, as she tilts her head upwards to look at the monitor. "It's looking good." She steps over a wire that trails in mid-air, straightening with a quiet groan. "Can we arrange blood gases in half an hour please and if those are stable then we can start to decrease the dex. I'll leave you instructions."

"What do you want to do if she's still showing sign of delirium?"

Peeling off her gloves and apron, Dr Mitchell scrunches them up and throws them into the large yellow pedal bin. She turns the tap on with her elbow, scrubbing her hands as she replies, "I'll write her up for some haloperidol, but it's only to be used if she's putting herself at risk of injury, I don't want to keep plying more medication onto her if we don't need to, so otherwise let's try and re-orientate her.

Rebecca nods, watching as the anaesthetist scribbles onto the drug Kardex and ventilator chart. Reaching out she brushes a thick strand of hair off Elizabeth's cheek, tucking it gently behind her ear. "Another couple of minutes and we'll let your husband back," she tells her quietly.

* * *

Stevie pulls the bedsheet as straight as it will go, pulling out the small wrinkles and smoothing any left away with her hand. She knows that her aunt had told her not to bother, but she needed something, anything to distract her. When she had hung up and found Jareth gone, she had thought about chasing after him, about trying to make it less awkward between them and trying to find some steady footing in their interactions, but she was so tired of constantly trying to make things better that she had left it. Later, she had told herself, she would deal with it later.

Her gaze had skittered across the kitchen and she had let out a groan at the sight of the empty takeout containers, scattered amongst the plates that had last night's dinner congealed onto them in a thick gloop. Maureen would have an absolute fit if she saw the mess of the place and so she had scrapped the remains on the plates into the bin, stacked the dishwasher and wiped down the counters. She thought about clearing away the mass of bedding and pillows that lay on the sitting room floor, but she couldn't bring herself to, she was bone tired again.

She'd dragged herself up to her room, the door to her bedroom had been ajar and Jareth was curled up in her bed, his jeans were on the floor, but he'd left his t-shirt on. He faced away from her, his back like a solid wall blocking her from him, as he let out quiet, snuffling snores. She thought about crawling into the bed next to him, but she couldn't bring herself to try and curl into that hard, block of unwelcoming muscle, to feel even more alone and isolated than she did already. So instead she had once again turned back to chores to distract herself, heading off to the linen cupboard.

Stevie pulls herself back to the moment, she wasn't going to dwell on Jareth or on her continuing avoidance of him, now wasn't the time. She suddenly hears the catch of the front door and she straightens, turning to shuffle down the hall and down the front stairs to come face to face with her Aunt Maureen, who is unwinding her scarf from around her neck, her navy canvas holdall placed against the console table in the entranceway. Stevie pauses on the bottom step, her hand gripping the stair rail, her eyes wide.

Maureen turns and looks Stevie up and down, her niece's pyjamas are crumpled, a dressing gown hanging haphazardly off her shoulders and her hair is mused. Her blue eyes are rimmed by dark shadows, tiredness leeching her skin of any colour, leaving her a pale, pasty colour. Maureen's grip tightens on her scarf at the sight of her. She has seen the pictures in the press of her nieces and nephew filing out of the house in the middle of the night, but the photos had been fuzzy, their expressions unclear, but at this distance the grief and shock on Stevie's face is palpable. Without saying a word, Maureen holds out her arms, beckoning with her hand, making her meaning clear.

Without a second's hesitation, Stevie rushes forward and into her Aunt's arms. Maureen's pulls her close, her hug tight as she gives her a squeeze. Stevie tucks her face into the crook of Maureen's neck. This is the first proper hug she's had since this happened that hasn't been slackened with shell shock, this is the first hug that's been given to comfort her, to make her feel safe and loved. Maureen plants a kiss against her bent head as she states, "I expected you to be back in bed."

Stevie steps back slightly and manages a weak smile, "I thought I'd get things ready for you, your bed is made."

Maureen gives a soft tut and a disapproving look. "I told you to leave that."

Wrapping her arms around herself, Stevie shrugs, looking down at her feet, "I just wanted to make sure that everything was sorted."

"Well, that's not your job anymore, that's why I'm here," Maureen tells her firmly. She glances up at the stairs. "I take it that Alison and Jason are asleep."

"Uh huh." Stevie chews on her bottom lip and fiddles with a strand of her blonde hair. "Jareth is asleep as well."

"Hmmm," Maureen mumbles under breath, her lips pulling tight as she chooses not to comment on why her niece's fiancé is asleep upstairs, whilst she wanders around doing housework. "I can see to myself, if you want to go up and get a few hours sleep then off you go."

"Um, I might leave it for a little while."

Maureen starts to walk towards the kitchen, her scarf still wrapped around her arm as she unbuttons her coat. "Will I make you a hot toddy?" she asks. "It might help you sleep, because believe me, that's what you need right now."

"I probably shouldn't, it's a bit early for alcohol."

"You're not going to be driving, and if you can't have drink now, when can you?" Maureen retorts with a soft snort.

Stevie gives a genuine smile. "It actually does sound nice, which is a bit worrying considering that I hate whiskey."

"Bit of honey in it and just sip it," her aunt instructs her. She folds her coat over the back of one of the dining chairs in the kitchen, draping her scarf on top. She approaches Stevie, her hands resting briefly against her upper arms as she directs her towards a seat. "Now you sit down, and I'll get this ready. I'm fairly sure that I remember where your parents keep everything."

For once, Stevie follows the instructions without complaint, sinking into her seat and watching her aunt potter around the room, occasionally opening a cupboard and shaking her head when she doesn't find what she's looking for. The smell of last night's takeout lingers in the kitchen air, and Stevie thinks about how she should really have taken the bin out, but for once Maureen doesn't comment on the evil that is fast food. As the whiskey heats over the hob, Stevie asks, "Was your journey ok?"

"Fine," Maureen replies as she stirs the amber liquid, adding in a dollop of honey. "It's always very uneventful. Your Uncle said I could take the car, but parking in DC…" she shakes her head, "the bus is just simpler and quicker."

As Maureen turns to put the kettle on, Stevie, who is now resting her chin on her upturned palms, asks, "Are you not having one?"

"Oh no," she shakes her head. "I'm going to head across to the hospital soon and I don't want any alcohol on my breath." She eyes the box of sandwiches on the countertop and remarks, "I'm glad to see someone has thought of something sensible to bring you all."

"That was Blake, Mom's assistant, sensible and well prepared could be his middle name."

Maureen rakes through a cupboard and pulls out a plate, piling three sandwiches onto it and pushing it towards Stevie, "You should have some, keep your strength up."

Stevie nods, deciding that it easier just to do as she's told where Maureen is concerned, that and her stomach is starting to feel like it's gnawing on itself in hunger. "You can help yourself," she tells her through a mouthful of bread.

For a moment Maureen narrows her eyes, debating whether to tell her niece off for talking with her mouth full, but she decides to leave it, instead replying, "I might have one, I didn't get the chance to make sandwiches for the bus ride, it was a fairly last minute decision." She pours their drinks into mugs and briskly places them out on the table, before taking a seat across from Stevie. "So, how is your Mom?"

Stevie blows on her drink in a fruitless attempt to cool it down before she answers, "She was doing a bit better when we left this morning."

"And before that?" Maureen's eyes have narrowed as she watches her niece, seeing her already wan face whiten and noticing how her grip on her mug tightens.

"It wasn't a good night," Stevie tells her, her voice shaking. She lifts her face to meet her Aunt's gaze, "Her lung collapsed, and it caused her heart to stop. She's still on a ventilator, still sedated." She feels a tear run from her eye, tracking a damp trail down her cheek. She wipes it away with the back of her hand and gives a sniff. "You said that you read something in the news, what was it?"

Maureen's lips thin. "There's been a lot of speculation about how ill she really is, they knew you went back to the hospital last night. When I couldn't reach your Dad, I felt it was best just to head across."

"He's been really worried, isn't quite himself," Stevie offers, quietly. She's been concerned about his refusal to come home, his reluctance to eat and the fact that he simply sits at her Mom's bedside and waits. She doesn't know how to fix that either, can't seem to fix anything.

"That's understandable," Maureen sips at her tea. "Is there anything he needs taken in?"

"Probably some food, he won't have eaten," Stevie tells her. She isn't sure how her Dad will take the arrival of his older sister, she's tried to call him and sent him a warning text, but he's clearly ignoring his phone, which also isn't like him. "He said he'd phone if anything changed for the worse, he hasn't so I assume…" she trails off, she probably shouldn't assume anything right now.

Watching as Stevie digs the heel of her palm into her tired eyes and rubs at them, Maureen reaches out and pats her hand. "You need to eat that and then get some sleep." She takes another sip of her tea as she remarks meaningfully, "I'm surprised that Jareth has slept through you getting up."

Stevie's forefinger rubs at the design on her mug as she stares down at it. "He…uh…didn't sleep through. He flew back from London overnight; he went to bed just after I got up."

"Hmmm," Maureen chooses not to comment on it other than to make the disapproving noise that escapes from the back of her throat, but Stevie can see the sharp edge to her gaze. "Well, if you need to, you can always sleep in the guest bed. I'll not need it until tonight."

Gulping down a large mouthful of her warm drink, Stevie tells her, "I'm sure that's not going to be necessary."

"Well if it is, you know it's there." Maureen watches as Stevie finishes her drink and tells her, "Now go and get some sleep."

Too tired to argue, Stevie can feel her eyes start to droop. "I probably should."

"Absolutely, you're Mom wouldn't want to see you looking like a sleep deprived zombie." She slides the now empty mug away from her.

"Will you be ok?" Stevie looks at her with wide, anxious eyes.

"Absolutely."

Stevie nods, too tired to be polite and argue that her aunt is a guest, and she should entertain her. Her slippers scuff on the stairs and she trudges along the hallway to her room. This time when she peers in, she can see Jareth star-fished across the bed, at any other time it would make her smile, but she's so exhausted and she'll need to wake him and who knows what mood he'll be in, so she simply turns and despite her earlier protestations, heads for the guest bedroom after all.

* * *

Mike Barnett leans forward; his elbows rest on his knees and he watches the front of the court intently as he listens to the swirl of conversation around him. The press benches are packed, speculation is rife and he listens and absorbs as much of it as he can as he waits for the hearing to start. Journalists debate in not so hushed tones the fact that none of the McCords are present and what that could possibly mean. Others discuss the rumours that have been swirling about Ray Merchant being her student, their innuendo clear, palpable. Mike pulls in his lips and fights the urge to bite someone's head off.

The door at the side opens with a click and the crowd falls silent, the scratching of their pens the only sound now, as Ray Merchant is led in. He is singularly unimpressive, Mike thinks, his hair is overlong and brushes the collar of his shirt, his goatee is ill-trimmed. He glances around the room a gleam of ill-concealed delight in his gaze at the crowd. He ducks his head and says something to his lawyer and Mike frowns when he see that it's Antony Thacker who's defending him, unsure just how Merchant has managed to obtain the shark-like attorney in twenty-four hours and how he's managed to pay the retainer. His foot jiggles as he files away this fact for later consideration, after all that's what he's here for, it's why Henry has asked him to attend where he can't. His gaze flickers to the prosecutor who's been provided by the US attorney's office and lets out a small sigh of relief, at least Claudia Moss is likely to be prepared for whatever is thrown at her by Thacker.

Another door clicks, and the court clerk calls out, "All rise for Judge Lynall."

Mike gets to his feet, the press give a collective groan as they lumber to theirs, it had been hard enough to fit along the benches the first time. He watches as Judge Ethan Lynall enters, placing his files to the side of him as he drops into his chair. He eyes the court through the glasses that are perched on the end of his nose and waves a hand, telling them, "Be seated."

There's murmuring and shuffling as everyone jostles for space, before falling silent again. The silence is heavy, almost oppressive, everyone here has been waiting for this moment, the reading of the charges and more importantly the plea.

Judge Lynall looks across at the defendant. "Mr Raymond Merchant, can I confirm that you were read your rights prior to entering this court room?"

Merchant's voice is stronger, more confident than Mike expected, after such a cowardly act, he expected a weak, shaky voice, he'd expected to be able to sense the fear from him, but there was none of that, his back is straight and his voice steady as he replies, "I was, your Honour."

He adjusts his glasses. "And are you happy with your current legal representation?"

Mike could swear that he sees Merchant's lips twitch with the ghost of a smile as he replies, "I am, your Honour."

"Very well. Let's begin. Raymond Merchant it is alleged that on the 25th of February 2017 at approximately 1235 you did fire a concealed, unlicenced and unregistered handgun at the Secretary of State Elizabeth McCord. I will now read the you the list of charges against you and you can enter your plea for each charge, do you understand?"

"I do."

Judge Lynall gives a curt nod and he shuffles a slip of paper to the top of his pile. "Mr Merchant, you are charged with the First-degree attempted murder of Secretary Elizabeth McCord, how do you plead?"

"Not guilty."

Merchant's words cause a ripple effect across the courtroom, everyone other than Mike had expected him to plead, had expected that a deal of some sort would have been reached.

Lynall simply nods. "You are also charged with the aggravated assault with a deadly weapon of Secretary Elizabeth McCord, how do you plead?"

"Not guilty."

"You are charged with the possession of an unregistered firearm, how do you plead?"

"Not guilty."

"You are charged with the unlawful possession of ammunition, how do you plead?"

"Not guilty."

"You are charged with carrying a pistol without a licence, how do you plead?"

"Not guilty."

"You are charged with the possession of a class IV substance, how so you plead?"

"Not guilty."

"And finally, you are charged with threatening a government official, how do you plead?"

"Not guilty."

The silence that has enveloped the press after the first plea finally breaks and there is an outbreak of chatter and gasps. Judge Lynall holds up his hand again, his voice firm, censuring, as he announces, "Quiet please."

A new silence falls across the crowd and Thackery clears his throat, announcing, "You're honour, we'd like to discuss bail."

Mike's eyebrows rise up into his hairline, he didn't think they would be so bold to even attempt this request, he leans further forward, intrigued by the proceedings taking place now.

Judge Lynall's mouth gives a small twitch. "Your client is aware that he is accused of a very serious and violent federal crime?"

"He is, but he is also a first-time offender who is happy to hand over his passport and report daily to his local police station. He isn't a flight risk."

"Hmph." Judge Lynall looks across at Claudia Moss, "I assume you have objections."

"Absolutely your honour." Claudia's spine is straight, her auburn hair hangs in a thick, smooth sheet to her shoulders in a neat bob and her voice rings out clearly over the court. "This is a violent offence that was perpetrated against a senior member of the American Government. The prosecution alleges that Mr Merchant stalked Secretary McCord before approaching her with the intention of ending her life and that he remains a current threat to her safety. Not only was this a horrifically violent offence but this case has already stirred a very emotive response from the public and although I believe that Mr Merchant isn't a flight risk, I do believe that he would be at risk of a vigilante response should he bailed, which would prevent full legal recourse being explored."

"Objection," Thackery cuts in, his hand running down the front lapel of his designer suit. "Mr Merchant cannot be denied bail just because he may be at risk of a revenge attack, not if he is willing to take that risk."

"He might not be able to be denied bail on that, but it should be considered, and more importantly, Mr Merchant doesn't have a fixed abode to be bailed too, as his room-mate who owns the property has declined to allow him to return."

Thacker's confident smile remains fixed in place as he admits, "That is problematic, however, as previously stated this is a first offence of a man who isn't a flight risk."

"Perhaps not," Judge Lynall remarks, his thumb rubbing at his cheekbone. "But this is far too serious offence to allow Mr Merchant to be bailed at large, so on this occasion I will be denying bail."

Merchant doesn't look perturbed, rather he looks bored, his gaze flickering around the courtroom, the reason for which becomes clear as Thackery states, "In that case your honour, we would like to invoke Mr Merchant's right to a speedy trial." Merchant's lips quirk into a brief smile at this pronouncement, and Mike swears he sees him glance down at his nails, as he unfurls his fingers.

Judge Lynall glances across at Claudia, but there's no argument that she can make, it's his right after all. He rubs his cheekbone again. "Your client is aware that this will only give him a maximum of seventy days to prepare his case?"

"He is your honour."

"Then his request is granted." He picks up his gavel, it is twitching in his grasp as he asks, "Are there any further considerations or requests that require to be heard at this time." At the silence, he gives a nod. "Very well, Mr Merchant you are to be remanded in custody and your next court date for your preliminary hearing will take place in no more than fourteen days' time. Court dismissed." The gavel hits the wood with a loud clunk and the court breaks into chatter again.

Mike blocks out the buzz of the journalists around him and watches an unfazed Merchant smile at his lawyer and shake his hand before he is lead away by the bailiff.

* * *

**So it was only when I started researching this chapter that I discovered that federal crimes require a grand jury indictment, as I'd already threading the arraignment through multiple chapters I'm choosing to overlook that this is missing here. If I've made any other mistakes I'm more than happy to be corrected and I will look to adjust it wherever I can.**


End file.
